The Maltese Vulcan
by allakimbo
Summary: When the Enterprise is called in to investigate a heist on Vulcan, the crew are put in the middle of an interstellar incident that threatens diplomatic relations between Vulcan and Andoria. T'Pol once again finds herself connecting the dots of an old-fashioned mystery that, as Trip points out, bears some resemblance a hard-boiled detective classic.
1. 1 Bell, Book, and Scandal

Author's note:

So it's been ten years since The Thin Man Beams Aboard. I had always meant to write this story, but after the fiasco that was the end of the series, I just lost heart after a while. Then life went on, like it does.

Recently I had a little revival, rewatching some of my favorite shows on Netflix and Amazon Prime: The X-Files (still amazing), Highlander (how cheesy was that show, huh?), TNG (every episode is a classic), and, you guessed it, Enterprise.

Once again I enjoyed the tension and drama of season 3, the only season that, to me, felt fresh and unique. Then I watched season 4. I used to think Enterprise basically ended at Terra Prime—These Are the Voyages was too awful and convoluted to serve as a swan song for the Star Trek television franchise (read my fic Doomed to Repeat It if you want to see that whole debacle reverse engineered). After having re-watched Demons and Terra Prime, however, I have to amend my earlier decision. As far as I'm concerned, the show ended with Bound, the last episode that had a semi-coherent plot and that didn't push viewers into artificially contrived angst just for the sake of…well, I don't know what all that angst was supposed to be about. All I know is, my own Enterprise universe timeline will never make it to Demons, Terra Prime, dying hybrid babies (angst, I tell you, angst!), or crazy flying moon bases. That is my promise to you all.

My Enterprise timeline is filled with episodes that could have, should have happened. I never wanted anything grand or overwhelming from the show, just another season of good, solid storylines that explored both the mysteries of space and the relationships among the crew (all of them—not just Trip and T'Pol).

These are the thoughts that led me to write the following piece of fiction. It is intended to basically be an episode of Enterprise (probably a two-parter). This story also makes several references to The Thin Man Beams Aboard, another story in the same vein, but should still make sense if you haven't read it.

Please enjoy!

* * *

**The Maltese Vulcan**

**Chapter 1: Bell, Book, and Scandal**

One of them had done it, that much was certain. The evidence kept coming back to this point, she couldn't deny it any longer. Though not naturally given to distrust, T'Pol grimly surveyed her crewmates from her science station with something approaching suspicion. Who could it be? She ticked off the suspects in her mind, assessing their means, motives, and opportunities.

Malcolm was an obvious first choice. As head of security, he had access to every part of the ship, including the data logs. His motive? Misplaced friendship, perhaps. His opportunities? Infinite. He could have easily committed the offense at almost any time and covered his tracks. She hoped it wasn't him, as proving his guilt would be difficult if not impossible.

Captain Archer was another possibility, but she doubted that the captain would be involved in this affair. It was beneath him, plus he was the most scrutinized member of the crew. He had to know that he would get caught in such a venture, which made his participation highly unlikely. He respected her deductive skills too much to attempt to evade them, she felt sure.

Hoshi? Ah, Hoshi. Ensign Sato was a promising candidate. She had the necessary access and would have plenty of opportunity to abuse that access. Her motive was simple: belief that she was doing the right thing, acting in the best interests of the crew. It was an age-old story of ends justifying means, of papering the road to hell with good intentions. Or maybe cementing the road. She could not quite recall the exact wording of the quote, but no matter. The more T'Pol thought about it, the likelier it seemed that Hoshi was somehow involved.

"Did you need something Commander?"

T'Pol realized she had been staring thoughtfully at Hoshi. Head cocked to one side and her hands paused above her console, Hoshi was now looking quizzically back at her.

T'Pol drew herself together. This was neither the time nor the place for personal contemplation. Her suspicions would have to be satisfied later, in a more appropriate venue. The first officer neatly folded up her thoughts and after a fraction of a second answered Hoshi's inquiry. "I would like to incorporate your translation program upgrades into the long-distance communications array. When you have time, Ensign, perhaps we can schedule preliminary testing of the relays."

Hoshi's eyes lit up. "I've been making improvements to the program," she said eagerly. "I think long-distance communications would be the perfect place to integrate the new system. The more unknown syntax you feed it, the faster it learns, so giving it a chance to hear new languages will be so important to its success." The communications officer was beaming as she spoke. The translation program was her special project, T'Pol knew.

Watching her talk about it with enthusiasm made the Vulcan feel a twinge of regret at what she must do. T'Pol brushed aside the errant emotion. It was ridiculous, the way this bond with Trip sometimes affected her. Her mind wandering while on duty on the bridge, sentimentality affecting her judgment, what was next? Weeping at movie night? Telling jokes at staff meetings? Well, probably not that last one. Trip had tried with no success to get her to master the telling of a joke. There was something about the timing she could never get right. In the end Trip told her to "stick with the straight man routine," which apparently meant she should just be herself.

Right now being herself meant running scans at her science station, so she turned her full attention to tracking particle charges within a nearby fledgling nebula. Others might find this task tedious, but she found the simplicity of the science to be quite beautiful.

Two hours later, when her shift ended, she felt quite composed as she entered the turbolift with Hoshi. "Deck E," she instructed, then turned to her companion. "Would you care to stop at the mess hall for a cup of tea?" she asked politely.

Hoshi smiled. It wasn't often that T'Pol reached out to her human shipmates and she always felt slightly honored to be the recipient of the Vulcan's overtures of friendship. "Sure."

The mess hall was almost empty, but for an Engineering ensign sipping coffee as he pored tiredly over a PADD. Hoshi chose a seat at a small table near the viewports while T'Pol selected tea from the dispenser. She could easily have had better tea in her own quarters, but she had a purpose here. She set the steaming beverage in from of Hoshi and sat down, pondering the best way to broach the subject. Hoshi interrupted her thoughts.

"What do you think the next Movie Night will be?" she asked, looking around the mess. "I missed the last one because I was on shift, but I hear it was standing room only in here."

The last movie had been an action adventure movie from the late 2000s featuring some rather fantastical predictions on the perils of deep space travel. T'Pol found it rather boring, but her crewmates had enjoyed it immensely.

"It was quite popular," she conceded. "I am not sure what Trip will choose as the next film." Something with fewer explosions, she hoped. Why were humans so fascinated with the violent and fiery destruction of property?

"Oh." Hoshi fell quiet and for a moment, neither spoke for a moment. T'Pol observed that Hoshi was uncomfortable with the silence the stretched between them. Perhaps this was a sign of guilt? On the other hand, the Vulcan had noted that humans generally disliked long pauses in the flow of their conversations, so perhaps not.

"Are you reading anything new?" the communications officer finally asked, sounding a little frustrated.

"Yes," T'Pol answered, "as a matter of fact I am." This was her opportunity, and she took it. "I am currently reading The Maltese Falcon, which is another book by Dashiell Hammett."

"He wrote the Thin Man," Hoshi remembered. "A great book and a great movie! It's so stylish, it makes you want to go back in time to the 1930s to see if people really were like that." She sipped her tea and leaned in. "Are you reading this on a PADD or…do you have your own copy?" She grinned. It was a well-known secret that Trip had given the Vulcan an actual copy of The Thin Man as a gift. There was a lot of speculation about the nature of the relationship between the science officer and the chief engineer.

A-ha! This was, to T'Pol, as good as a confession. "I am reading a paper copy," she said evenly, "which Commander Tucker presented to mark the occasion of my birthday."

Hoshi's jaw practically dropped. "He got you a birthday present?!" she asked. This was certainly news!

"Yes," T'Pol confirmed calmly. "Although I do not know how he knew it was my birthday." She looked at Hoshi pointedly. "Do you have any idea how he could have come across that information?"

The young ensign's eyes grew wide and round as she understood the implication of T'Pol's question. "How did he know it was your birthday?" Hoshi knew that Vulcans considered information such as age and birthdays to be…sensitive. "You don't think I…I wouldn't…I really don't know how he knew," she stuttered. "Are you accusing me of accessing your personnel file and telling him your birth date?"

"I am not accusing you of anything." T'Pol stirred her tea. "I am simply asking if you have any theories as to how Commander Tucker might have come across that information."

"N-no," she stammered, thinking about it. "I swear it wasn't me. I wouldn't do that." T'Pol looked at the young woman carefully and relented. Hoshi was a very trustworthy colleague. She monitored all of the ship's communications and had access to a lot of private information. She would not achieve such a position by being prone to giving out that information. But this placed T'Pol back at the starting point.

"If not you, then who?" she wondered.

"Why not just ask the Commander?" Hoshi offered.

T'Pol shifted in her seat. "I have."

"What did he say?"

"He refused to reveal his source."

Hoshi tried very hard not to laugh and almost succeeded.

* * *

"Figured it out yet?"

"Are you referring to the plot of the book or to the secret you insist on keeping?" T'Pol kept her eyes lightly closed but could feel Trip's presence in the white space of her meditating mind.

"Both. Either."

She opened her eyes and found him sitting cross-legged in front of her. He was in a meditation pose that she had taught him, she was pleased to see. His form was terrible, but still.

"I fail to understand the need for subterfuge." Though she spoke without emotion, her arched eyebrow indicated the depth of her annoyance with him. "Or the need to bring your colleagues into this matter."

"I must protect my sources," he said solemnly, then smiled. "Besides, what's the big deal? I already knew your age. This is the next logical step." She pursed her lips slightly and he knew she wanted to comment on his use of "logic," so he continued before she had the chance. "What makes you think I didn't find this information by myself, anyway? I am the chief engineer of the most celebrated starship of my species. You think I couldn't find one little birth record?"

"Did you?" she asked, point-blank.

"Well…no." Her look was unsurprised. "But I could have!"

"So you did get the information from someone," T'Pol stated definitively. "It is only a matter of time before I discover your collaborator."

Trip leaned back, propping himself on his elbows. He unfolded his legs, stretching them next to her, just barely touching one of her knees. "Admit it, you like playing detective," he cajoled.

He was right, but she would not admit it. Not at the moment.

Truthfully, she was unsure how to react to the gift he had given her. On Vulcan, birthdays were not cause for celebration. They were a time for thoughtful and realistic reflection on one's life. She had never celebrated with more than a few words to her family and an extra hour of reading or meditation. Human birthdays, by contrast, were emotionally charged events. They seemed to love birthdays…or hate them.

She had always had a hard time deciphering the human/birthday relationship. When she had first arrived on Earth she had been instructed to wish a person a "happy birthday" when appropriate, but she found it difficult to judge when and where such greetings should be made. T'Pol had politely wished a happy birthday to an ambassador's aide one morning as they both waited for a turbolift. The woman thanked her and had smiled, until T'Pol inquired as to her age.

"40," she replied. "Can you believe it?"

"Yes," T'Pol answered honestly. The woman did look approximately 40 human years of age. The woman stopped smiling, and T'Pol rode the turbolift alone.

After this incident, she wondered if perhaps human birthday greetings were best left to friends and family, but had found that this too could be a breach of etiquette when one day in the mess hall several people were wishing Ensign Hess a happy birthday. T'Pol had simply nodded to the young woman, which inexplicably had a dampening effect on everyone present, especially Ensign Hess. As she was leaving the area, she had heard someone murmur that she was a "Debbie Downer," which she guessed was not a flattering term. T'Pol didn't miss Vulcan often, but when she did, it was at times like these.

"Hey, penny for your thoughts," Trip's leg nudged her knee.

She was familiar with this colloquialism. "I was thinking about the Maltese Falcon," she told him, changing the subject. Birthdays were complicated, human detective novels were not.

"Oh yeah? What do you think so far?"

T'Pol was prepared for this question. They had developed a tradition. When he recommended—or gave—her a book, he became very intent on her opinion of it. She would offer her review, he would debate several points with her, and then he would try to entice her into guessing the ending of the book (she almost always could). If he really stayed true to form, a film version of the Maltese Falcon (assuming there was one) would make its way to Movie Night in the near future. Knowing this, she always made sure to read if not the entire book, at least enough to make astute observations about the work. His choices of literature were, as a rule, quite good, so she enjoyed their discussions.

"While I do not yet know who killed Miles Archer or who has the Maltese Falcon, I find the style of the book to be most interesting. It is very…_human_."

"What does that mean?" he wanted to know.

"It consists almost entirely of the actions of the characters, with very little inner reflection on their part or the part of an outside narrator," she said. "It moves very quickly and is highly visual in its storytelling."

"So humans have little inner reflection, move very quickly, and are highly visual?" he asked teasingly.

"Yes," she answered, cocking her head to the side. She did not show it, but he heard the smile in her voice. "It is very enjoyable." This time he raised his eyebrows. "The book, that is."

"Ah."

She cleared her throat slightly. "Thank you, Trip," she said, not quite looking at him, "for the gift."

He watched her for a moment, thinking, then sat up swiftly and put a hand over one of hers, which was still spread over her crossed knees. He leaned in quickly, before she had a moment to react, and kissed her softly.

It was funny that in this place that wasn't a real place, with bodies that were not physical, that she should feel the most electrical of sensations from such a small gesture. It had only happened inside her mind, but she felt its jolt through all of her senses. Trip pulled back as though stung. Wide-eyed, he stared at her, having clearly felt it too. He lifted his hand to her face and she tipped her head towards his again—

"This is the captain," came a distant voice. Where was that coming from? Captain? Captain who? Everything seemed a little vague right now.

"Senior staff report to the situation room," Captain Archer instructed over the comm.

T'Pol opened her eyes, back in her own quarters. She took a deep breath before blowing out her meditation candle and standing. She hit the comm button. "On my way."


	2. 2 Million Dollar Badger

**Chapter 2: Million Dollar Badger**

Trip knew even before he left the turbolift that the ship had sped up and altered its course. The subtle shift of the engines that went unnoticed by most spoke volumes to the chief engineer. He headed onto the bridge and was greeted by Malcolm. Behind him, Travis and Phlox stood around the briefing table.

"What's going on?"

"I have no idea," answered the Brit, his eyes alert, "but we've changed course for Vulcan."

"Vulcan?" T'Pol and Hoshi stepped onto the bridge together. Trip saw a flicker of concern in T'Pol's eyes. Vulcan was not always her favorite place to visit, but it was her home. The memory of their meditation session dissipated as both human and Vulcan turned their attention to the captain.

"Yes, we've changed course for Vulcan," he confirmed. "We've been sent for on request of the High Council."

"The Vulcan Council requested _Enterprise_?" Trip was incredulous. "They must really be in a bind."

Archer stifled a smile at his friend. "I think they wanted a neutral party to help them with this particular situation," he informed the engineer.

"Since when are we a neutral party?" Malcolm wanted to know, sounding almost offended at the suggestion.

"Since we helped resolve the situation at the Shomar Mining Project," Archer told him. "Apparently we are now the go-to vessel for sorting out Vulcan/Andorian diplomatic relations."

"Are they at it again?" Malcolm asked. The Shomar Mining Project incident had been less about diplomatic tact and more about squabbling children who needed a time-out, in Malcolm's opinion. Oh, and murder, of course. It had also been about murder.

"Seems so," Archer nodded. "As I said, we've been requested by the High Council, or more specifically, by the Vulcan Minister of Culture."

"Minister Serat?" asked T'Pol.

Archer turned to her. "You know him?"

"Only by reputation. He is one of the few Vulcan ministers to have survived the government transition."

"How'd he manage that?" asked Trip.

"He has always been a very popular politician," T'Pol answered. "During the early stages of the reformation he opened a permanent display in the Vulcan Academy of Art and Culture on Surak, and converted several adjoining classrooms into communal meditation spaces."

"That saved his job?" Travis sounded unconvinced.

"It created a sense of unity and gave people the impression that the government wanted to be more open, more transparent," T'Pol explained. "His public approval ratings increased dramatically, and he became a face for the reform."

"I don't trust him already," Malcolm muttered aside to Trip. Trip smiled. Malcolm didn't trust anybody for one reason or another.

"What has he asked us to do?" T'Pol wanted to know.

Archer punched a few buttons on the briefing table in front of them, and the console screens flooded with data and images.

"A few months ago an exhibit opened at the Academy of Art and Culture. It's the first interspecies exhibit the Academy has ever hosted, and will be traveling to four worlds: Vulcan, Andoria, Earth, and Tellar."

"'Deserts of Fire and Ice: Ancient Cultures, Extreme Environments,'" read Hoshi, looking at the information on the screen in front of her. "'Featuring art objects from the Avenarii and the Shu'ar.'" She looked up. "Who are the Avenarii and the Shu'ar?"

"The Avenarii are an Andorian tundra culture that lived in caves near the surface of Andoria thousands of years ago. The Shu'ar also lived thousands of years ago, in the deserts of Vulcan." This information came, unexpectedly, from Dr. Phlox. "I have heard of this exhibit," he answered their questioning looks. "I had hoped to attend at some point. It is much anticipated on both Vulcan and Andoria."

"It is," the captain agreed, "which is why the theft of its most valuable artifact is causing so many problems." He hit another sequence of buttons and a strange object appeared on the small central viewscreen.

"Is that a…" Trip tilted his head, "it looks like a badger. A purple badger."

"It's called a…" Archer consulted the text before him, "… gearling vetch, and apparently it had a lot of religious significance to the Avenarii. The species went extinct almost 3,000 years ago, so this is also one of the only known representations of the animal. And did I mention it's made of a mineral called belaran?"

Trip put his hands on his hips as he continued to regard the strange little creature. "Let me guess: this mineral, it's rare?"

"Incredibly so," Archer confirmed. "The artifact would be worth a fortune on any black market for its mineral content alone."

"This seems like a matter for planetary security, not a starship," Malcolm noted. Trip knew his friend was implying that _Enterprise_'s time was too valuable to waste solving a robbery.

"It would be, normally," Archer told him. "But the gearling vetch is an Andorian artifact, owned by a prominent Andorian family. It was stolen from a renowned Vulcan institution during an interspecies collaboration. Both governments are very…concerned."

"Ah." It became clear to Malcolm. "They're fighting over jurisdiction."

"Like cats and dogs," Archer looked as unsurprised as his head of security at this development.

"And vetches," Trip added. The captain ignored this and T'Pol shot the engineer a look.

"To make matters worse, the prime suspect is a Vulcan."

"A Vulcan?" T'Pol couldn't believe it. "That is highly unlikely."

"Maybe," said Archer simply, as he pulled up a series of personnel files, displaying them on the viewscreen one by one. "The suspect is Sehl," a young Vulcan with short blonde hair appeared on the screen, "a historian specializing in the Shu'ar and other desert groups. The curator, K'Met," an older Vulcan with long, straight black hair and piercing green eyes came into view, "arrived at the Academy yesterday morning to find Sehl had cleaned out her workspace in the night and left. Not long after, the disappearance of the gearling vetch was discovered. Exhibit security records show that someone tampered with the alarm and visual recording systems, turning them off using K'Met's clearance access. At the time this was happening K'Met was attending a dinner at the Andorian Embassy. She was seen by over 30 people, including Minister Serat. She claims that only Sehl knew her access clearances, as they had both used them in the crunch just before the exhibit opened. A woman matching Sehl's description was seen at the ShiKahr space port."

"She could go a thousand places from there," Malcolm pointed out. ShiKahr was the most populous city on Vulcan and had ships coming into it from every corner of the quadrant every day.

The viewscreen image changed, and the dark-haired Vulcan was replaced by a grizzled pale blue Andorian. His hair stood up in unruly mass atop his head, nearly obscuring his antennae.

"Although the case against Sehl is solid," Archer continued, "the Andorian curator, Jhemel Dav, doesn't alibi for the time of the theft. He was supposed to be at reception at the Andorian Embassy, but no one remembers seeing him during the time of the theft. He claims he passed out in one of the rooms. Also without an alibi," the Andorian was replaced by a young human man with brown hair and thick-rimmed glasses, "is his assistant, Kyle Shailey. He's part of an internship exchange program between Earth and Andoria, claims he was walking the Academy grounds that evening, but there are no witnesses to this." Archer turned to the rest of the crew. "We are to rendezvous with the Minister himself at the Academy once we arrive on Vulcan. We will coordinate the investigations and, if necessary and possible, retrieve the artifact."

"Another reason they need a starship," Malcolm pointed out. "That little badger could be at the far reaches of the Klingon Empire by now, for all we know."

"We have our orders." Archer rubbed his hands together. "When we arrive, T'Pol and I will meet with the Minister and K'Met. Malcolm, I want you to question the Andorian curator and his assistant." Archer thought for a brief moment. "Take Hoshi with you," he decided. "Dismissed."


	3. 3 Now Where Have I Heard This Before?

**Chapter 3: Now Where Have I Heard This Before?**

Archer watched his crew disperse from the briefing table. T'Pol was heading for her station on the bridge when he called her back. "A word?" He gestured toward his ready room and she followed him inside.

"T'Pol, I'll get right to the point," the captain walked to his desk and leaned against it, surveying her. "There is a bit of a dilemma regarding your presence on this mission."

The Vulcan stiffened. "A dilemma?"

"Mmm. Seems that Serat is insistent that you be part of the detail for coordinating the investigations, but K'Met requested…" he frowned.

"She doesn't want me there," T'Pol concluded. "Why does she object to my presence?"

"I don't know. Whatever the reason, she'll have to get over it because you will be there and you will be helping with the investigation." Archer felt a surge of anger and suppressed it. He hated that there were still remnants of tension between T'Pol and her people. "I just felt you should know before we get there. You may get the cold shoulder."

"Thank you, sir," T'Pol answered calmly, taking this news in stride. "To be honest, I wouldn't expect anything less than a reserved reception." He admired her for this: she knew exactly what kind of welcome awaited her on her home planet, and wouldn't let it have the slightest effect on her professionalism.

"I guess it's better to walk into it with your eyes open. Just let me know if it impedes your work."

"It will not," she assured him. She had more confidence than he did on this matter. As she left he could not help but wonder what awaited them all this time on T'Pol's home world.

* * *

Unlike the captain, Trip was unable to hide his anger at the news that K'Met had asked that T'Pol be excluded from the mission.

"Who does she think she is?" he growled, his brow drawn into a deep frown. T'Pol immediately regretted initiating this conversation in Engineering. She should have waited until they were alone, but she had not suspected he would be quite so offended. He tore viciously at the stubborn power coupling he was in the process of replacing. A nearby crewman looked up, startled, then wisely edged away from the Commander's position as Trip swore at the errant device. Every once in a while one blew out unexpectedly—much like Trip's temper. "They ask for our help and think they can tell us who will or won't be part of the mission?"

T'Pol maintained her composure, mentally focusing her self-control on him through their bond. He stopped jabbing furiously at the coupling, but still scowled at it.

"Telling you about K'Met's request was not the primary purpose of my visit," she informed the chief engineer. "I came to ask you to look over the details of the security breach," she placed a hand on the power coupling and deftly pulled it free from its casing with one solid wrench. "When you have a free moment, of course."

"How…" Trip shook his head at the coupling and stopped himself. He straightened up and turned to face T'Pol, taking the PADD she offered. "Won't Malcolm be doing this?" he asked. "And won't he be doing a better job of it than me?"

"Perhaps," she conceded, "but I would like your opinion nonetheless. Another pair of eyes." There was something about the security records that bothered her, but she couldn't quite figure out what. Trip's input might prove useful alongside her own and Lt. Reed's.

"You got it," he gave a vague salute with the PADD. "I'll let you know what I find." He looked down at it thoughtfully. "Funny, huh?"

She cocked her head to one side. "What do you find amusing?"

"This mission, it's kind of a coincidence, isn't it?"

"A coincidence? With what does it coincide?"

"The Maltese Falcon." She stared at him, nonplussed. "Priceless artifacts being stolen? We're called in as investigators? C'mon, it's pretty serendipitous."

"You imagine that we are entering the role of Sam Spade." It was a statement rather than a question. "We are the hard-boiled detectives?"

"Yeah, who else would we be? Wait—did you just say 'hard-boiled'?" Trip squinted and leaned toward her.

"That is the correct phrase to describe Same Spade," she asserted.

"Did you do research on this book?"

"No," she said decisively. He looked somewhat disappointed by her blunt answer, so she relented. "I did some reading about the genre in general." He grinned. "And I read enough of The Maltese Falcon to know that if real life coincides with the fictional plot, we should be aware that the falcon is simply a plot device. The real theme of the book is that you don't know what something really is unless you look below the surface."

"I hadn't thought of that," he admitted, "but you're right. There may be plot twists in our future."

"Or perhaps the Maltese Falcon is a book and our mission is real life and they don't have much to do with each other." Humans were always looking for connections in random events.

Trip rolled his eyes in amusement. "Spoilsport." She didn't exactly know what the term meant, but she could guess. He cleared his throat as she turned to leave. "Uh, T'Pol?"

She turned back.

"What exactly was that, earlier, in the white room? When I kis—"

"Commander," she interrupted, "contact me when you have reviewed the Academy security logs." Engineering was definitely not the setting for _this_ conversation. Her eyes darted to the crewman working at the adjacent work station, but the man was engrossed in using a laser welder to put together what looked like a small containment pod.

Trip stopped, then followed her gaze. "_Ah_," he mouthed.

Humans, she thought. No patience at all. It was their worst and best quality. "We will discuss it later," she assured him.

"You bet we will," she heard him say in a low voice as she left.


	4. 4 Operator, Put Vulcan on the Line

**Chapter 4: Operator, Put Vulcan on the Line**

Lt. Reed considered himself a man of action rather than study, but he found that keeping this conception of himself was mostly in how he chose to frame things. Right now, for example, most people would say he was reviewing the personnel file of an art historian. Malcolm, however, chose to think of it as pre-interrogating the suspect in a jewel heist. See? Framing.

"This is interesting." Hoshi stood on the other side of the table, poring over text on a console. "I've been reading Jhemel Dav's files. Did you know he's a really famous artist on Andoria?" The communications officer leaned toward him. "For the last four years he's been spearheading a project called _Vehara Nat Sul_."

"My Andorian is a bit rusty…"

"'Art For All,'" she translated. "It's a movement advocating that all artwork be removed from the hands of private collectors and placed in public cultural institutions."

"The gearling vetch _was_ in a public institution," Malcolm noted.

"Because it wasn't going to _stay_ in a public institution. After the exhibit it goes back into private ownership by an Andorian family headed by Sekhar Endil. And get this: two years ago Dav petitioned the Andorian Empire to have the artifact released from Endil to 'the people of Andoria and all worlds.'"

"And he was refused. How surprising." Malcolm crossed his arms. His mind processed this new data, then rearranged it and took a different track. "What about the family? This Endil, would he benefit in any way if the little badger was stolen?" He could see the gears turning in Hoshi's sharp brain.

He enjoyed working with her like this. She reminded him what it was like to be young and excited about each mission. She was still a little more timid than the other officers about space travel—and given her experiences, who could blame her?—but her enthusiasm shone through in everything she did. Yes, he was glad to work with her.

"I guess, if he wanted to sell it," the communications officer finally said. "But it's such a famous artifact, how would he find a buyer? And would he risk something like this?"

Money could be a powerful motivator, Malcolm knew. "Maybe Dav will have an idea about that. Let's ask him when we talk to him." He turned to Hoshi. "And let's look at everyone's financial records," he added.

Hoshi was hesitant. "That information wasn't included with the data we received."

Malcolm put a hand on her shoulder and smiled conspiratorially. "I have faith that if anyone can find a way to obtain it, it's you."

She smiled back. "I'll do my best."

Somehow, he knew that would be good enough.

* * *

Hoshi really wanted to live up to Malcom's expectations of her, but she had no idea how she was going to make this happen. How was she supposed to get the financial records of two Vulcans, two Andorians, and a human? On two different planets, no less! To make matters worse, the Vulcan and Andorian economic systems were completely foreign to her. The Vulcans didn't use currency, she knew, but still had private property, using clan affiliation to determine ownership and inheritance. The Andorians used an economy based on credits and property; their system of ownership rights was based on marriage and the hierarchy of their four genders.

She spent an hour reading everything the _Enterprise_ databases could give her on Vulcan and Andorian financial systems when it hit her—she didn't need to understand every aspect of this stuff. All she needed to do was figure out a way to find out if any of the people on her list had either received or lost something big—credits, property, social position—in the past few months.

Okay, but how could she do that? Well, now, _that_ was easy. By doing the one thing she was best at: monitoring communications. People communicated everything important at some point, even when they probably shouldn't. If anyone knew this, it was Hoshi. Every day she oversaw the communications that happened on and off the ship. Crew members made jokes that revealed hidden truths, they made unexpected calls home "just to chat" when they got their hearts broken, they let secrets slip during routine work-related discussions. People always told you exactly who they were when they talked, you just had to know how to listen—and Hoshi was a fantastic listener.

The next question: did she know _where_ to listen? This was tricky. She would have to go right to the source, probably. Straight to the Vulcan Communications Administration and the Andorian Imperial Communications Center. She set to work and in half an hour was ready to put her plan in motion.

"Can I assist you?"

Hoshi really hoped this worked, and that if it did, it never got back to the captain. The Vulcan on the small view screen before her showed no surprise at receiving a call from a Starfleet vessel, but Hoshi doubted that surprise was even in her repertoire of facial expressions. The woman was so ancient that she may have actually been around when the VCA had been founded. She sported an older Vulcan hairstyle, one that culminated in a high multi-level bun on the top of her head, and wore an earpiece so large that only the tiny point of her ear peeped above it.

"Can I assist you?" the older Vulcan asked again.

"Yes." Hoshi cleared her throat. "I'm Ensign Hoshi Sato on board the Starfleet vessel _Enterprise_. We're working with the Vulcan Academy of Art and Culture. As part of an investigation I will need access to the communication logs of four individuals from the Academy." Hoshi tried to sound as official as possible.

The woman didn't bat an eyelash. "Do you have the proper authorization for this request?"

Authorization? Hoshi steeled herself and channel both Malcolm and Captain Archer. "We have been tasked by the Vulcan and Andorian governments to locate an important cultural artifact that's been stolen. That is my authorization."

This did not inspire awe in the elderly Vulcan, but it did spark curiosity. "You're looking into the theft of the gearling vetch?" the woman asked.

Hoshi blinked. "Uh, yes. Do you know it?"

"I saw it last month with my husband. Our son was visiting, on leave from his posting off of Deneb II." Was this Vulcan being…_chatty_? Hoshi was unprepared for such a scenario. "He rarely comes home these days, so we wanted to mark the occasion with a memorable outing," the woman continued. "The exhibit is impressive, and the gearling vetch is a remarkable artifact. Surprising that it was created by the ancestors of the Ando—"

"It _is_ remarkable, isn't it?" Hoshi broke in. "So you can see the urgency in the matter. Time is of the essence."

Hoshi could swear the women looked annoyed as she adjusted her earpiece. "What are the names you required?"

The Andorian Imperial Communications Center was much less straightforward, but Hoshi found that the Andorian love of draconian bureaucracy worked in her favor. After five transfers and three prematurely terminated calls, she finally found herself talking to the official who could release Sekhar Endil's personal communication records.

"What do you mean you don't have the consent forms?" she raised her voice and huffed. "Three copies were transmitted to your office yesterday, as required by the Imperial Regulation Code, section delta, sub-paragraph 9." She had no idea if section delta, sub-paragraph 9 existed but had quickly learned to throw around sections of the Imperial Regulation Code as often as possible. Everyone at the AICC quoted it but no one seemed to have actually read it.

"Perhaps you did," snapped the peevish looking administrator on her view screen, "but we did not receive them! You'll have to send them again."

"My captain is indisposed, working to find _your_ cultural icon," she replied angrily (they also responded well to anger she found, and very poorly to politeness). "He doesn't have time to sit down and re-authorize those forms!" She leaned in and went for the kill. "I don't want to, but if I have to contact the Imperial Command about your office's failure to assist our investigation, I will."

The administrator cleared his throat. "Now wait, don't be hasty. I am simply trying to do my job properly."

"If you were doing your job properly those forms wouldn't have gotten lost in the first place," Hoshi hissed.

The Andorian's antennae drooped. "What frequency did you want those records sent on?"


	5. 5 Plausible Deniability Means

**Chapter 5: Plausible Deniability Means Never Having to Say You're Sorry**

"And you got this information how?" Archer asked. When Hoshi studied the floor and Malcolm cleared his throat, Archer decided he didn't want to know. As long as Section 31 wasn't involved he could probably live with whatever means had been used, but just in case, it might be best to remain in a state of plausible deniability. "Never mind," he raised a hand as Malcolm opened his mouth to respond. He waved the PADD they had handed him upon entering his ready room. "Just tell me what I'm looking at here."

"Those are communications were sent to Sekhar Endil's home a month ago. They're threats from a man named Hesan—" Hoshi started.

"An Orion trader who operates just outside the Borderlands," Malcolm supplied. "He's mainly an information broker, but he also runs several gambling dens near Aldus Prime."

"It looks like Endil was frequenting the gambling dens," Hoshi went on excitedly. "His communications indicate that he goes on several "business trips" every month. After each of those he receives a "statement of accountability" from Hesan. Over the past few months the bills have gotten bigger, and finally, this past month, he received that message from Hesan."

"'Remuneration is non-negotiable,'" Archer read from the small screen. "'I assure you, Endil, that you will not enjoy the penalty for non-payment. Give my regards to your dear family.' He looked up, questioningly. "What's the penalty for non-payment? Do we know?"

Hoshi shook her head. "No, but after that message Endil has several communications with his bank and his lawyer—at least, I'm pretty sure he's the Andorian equivalent of a lawyer—about selling some of his property, including the gearling vetch. He couldn't sell it, though, because it's owned jointly by him and his children." Hoshi had somehow learned to make sense of the Andorian legalese.

"And now, only a couple of weeks later, the little badger's been stolen. Quite a coincidence." Malcolm's tone said exactly what he thought about this "coincidence."

Archer leaned back in his chair. "Is there any indication that Endil knew Sehl?

Hoshi nodded enthusiastically, her ponytail bobbing. "Endil came to Vulcan when the exhibit opened along with a number of high-ranking Andorian government officials, then once more a few weeks later. Both times he communicated with K'Met ahead of time to set up a private tour with her and Dav. He could easily have met Sehl during one of those visits. _And_ he was invited to the reception at the Ministry of Culture on the night of the theft."

Archer sat up. "Now I wonder why no one mentioned that?"

"Probably because he never showed," Malcolm supplied. "Endil booked passage to Vulcan but sent a message to the Academy a few hours before the reception to say he wouldn't be there. Guess who took that message?"

"Sehl," Archer concluded. This news opened several new cans of worms: had Sehl acted alone? Had Endil somehow enticed her into the theft? Was Sehl being set up in Endil's attempts to feed his gambling habit and pay off his debts? Any way you sliced it, Endil had just crept up a few notches on the suspect list. "Nice work, you two," he told his officers. Maybe all those detective movies Trip showed at movie night were paying off.

* * *

When she walked in, he knew she would be trouble. Her eyes were the color of good whiskey, and her lips would make angels weep. She wasn't too tall, but she had legs that just kept going, ending in a torso that just wouldn't quit.

Wait, no, that sounded stupid. Torso wasn't right. Breasts? Breasts that just wouldn't quit? That sounded equally stupid—and weirdly offensive.

Trip sighed. He was sipping coffee in the mess hall, taking a quick break from studying the details of the Vetch Incident, which had been a break from his normal engineering duties. He was a busy man today, but he was keeping his sanity by trying to figure out how T'Pol would be described in a pulp detective novel. He wasn't meeting with much success. How to handle the ears, for example? Personally, he found them to be delightful and highly attractive, but wasn't sure how to make them sound sultry and allur—

"Penny for your thoughts?" The object of his contemplation sat down across from him and crossed her legs neatly.

"I was thinking about how Sam Spade would describe you," he told her honestly. He couldn't help but grin at her reaction, which was to simply arch one eyebrow and sip her tea. The ears _were_ adorable, he thought, looking at them. He felt a very slight twinge in his mind, but he couldn't tell if it was pleasure or annoyance. He was a glass half-full kinda guy, so he went with the former.

"And what is your assessment?" she asked, directing her question into her tea mug rather than directly to him. "How would he describe a Vulcan female?"

"Trouble," Trip's smile widened at her annoyed look.

"Then it is a good thing he only had to deal with human females," she said tartly. "They are so seldom problematic."

He laughed out loud. She always had a way of making him feel somehow lighter, no matter how busy or stressed he was. "Oh," he remembered, "I looked at the log of the security breach, like you asked."

"Did you find anything?"

"Nothing much, just something weird about the timing of the events."

"Weird?"

"K'Met's security codes were actually entered twice on the night of the theft. They were entered once at 2210, then the system was inactive for over twenty minutes. Access locks out after ten minutes of inactivity, so the codes had to be entered in again when the system was reactivated."

T'Pol knew this already, but looked at him questioningly. "You think this means something?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. It's just…" he paused, thinking. "Well, don't you think it's a little…off? She enters the codes, disables security and surveillance, then waits so long that the system locks her out and she has to re-enter them and do it all again. She's committing a very risky heist, so why is she taking her time?"

"Perhaps something interrupted the thief," T'Pol theorized. "Or perhaps they were having second thoughts."

Trip noted her pointed refusal to name the art historian as the thief. "You really don't think it was Sehl, do you?"

"Her record makes it seem highly unlikely. She does not appear to have been affiliated with any known criminal elements, was never involved in any illegal activity, and—"

"And she's Vulcan," Trip finished for her.

"And she's an art historian," T'Pol countered. "Hardly a likely criminal mastermind."

"People can surprise you," Trip shrugged. "Even Vulcans." T'Pol was the most surprising Vulcan he knew, and she was damned well aware of that.

She got his meaning. Putting down her mug, her demeanor changed. She put her hands on the table in front of her and leaned toward him. The conversation, he knew, had just become private. A quick glance around the mess told him they were alone. He shifted in his seat, inching closer to her.

"Trip," she began, then stopped. He could see some kind of conflict in her mind, but she wasn't letting any of it slip through the bond. He wished for the thousandth time that she wasn't _quite_ so much more mentally controlled than he.

She never got the chance to continue, as the mess comm buzzed to life. "Archer to T'Pol," the captain's voice filled the room. T'Pol pulled back, instantly the First Officer once more.

She stood and crossed to the comm. "Go ahead."

"We're approaching Vulcan. Minister Serat has asked that we meet him at 1500 at the Academy."

"Acknowledged, captain. I will meet you in the Launch Bay."

Less than an hour. He wanted to go with her. It was ridiculous, he knew. She could handle herself and the captain would be with her. She didn't need him to be there, but he couldn't stop the irrational surge of protectiveness that flooded him.

The feeling must have been very powerful, because she paused for a moment before leaving, turning to face him. "I will be fine, Trip." She gave him a fleeting smile—so small that no one else would probably even notice it. Then she was gone.

She really did have lips that would make angels weep, he noted. And a chest that—no, still not right. Chest was not right. Sighing, he turned his mind back to his work.


	6. 6 With Friends Like These

**Chapter 6: With Friends Like These, Who Needs Suspects?**

K'Met was clearly a woman used to getting her way, and Archer could see that it was killing her that she hadn't this time. The curator would have been a beautiful woman, if not for her sour expression. Jet black hair fell in an intricate braid down her back, and her green eyes flashed with uncommon liveliness. Her facial features were angular and striking, with pronounced cheekbones and a long, straight nose. She was very tall, and she was currently using her height to look down her nose at his first officer. She had refused to give the traditional Vulcan salute to either the captain or T'Pol, which was practically a temper tantrum for her unemotional race.

Serat, on the other hand, was all cordiality. Slender, bland, and with far less physical presence Archer had expected, he had greeted both officers politely.

"Thank you for coming so quickly, captain. This is very important to the people of both Vulcan and Andoria, as well as to the Academy." The Minister waved them to a nearby conference table situated near a window offering a stunning view of the Academy grounds and, further off, a jagged range of the deep red mountains that surrounded the city of ShiKahr.

Archer smiled broadly, which he knew Vulcans hated. "Happy to help."

"We have gone over the records of the incident," T'Pol spoke up, "but perhaps we should start by having K'Met walk us through the events leading up to the theft."

"How would I know what those events were? This meeting is illogical, we know that Sehl took the artifact. Your time would be better spent searching for her."

"K'Met," Minister Serat interjected, "Captain Archer and Commander T'Pol are here at my request." His address seemed to Archer to have a tone of familiarity.

"We would like to be as thorough as possible by determining everyone's whereabouts on the night of the theft," T'Pol addressed the curator. "I'm sure you can agree, it is only _logical_."

Score one T'Pol, Archer tallied.

"I was not here, I was at a social gathering at the Andorian Embassy," K'Met grudgingly explained. "I find it useful to generate interest in the arts among government officials, so I try to go to these sorts of events as often as possible. Minister Serat was also there, of course. Even that vusheran, Jhemel Dav was there. The only person who wasn't there was Sehl, who had my access codes and was seen here. Is this an adequate recounting of events?"

Maybe this was the Vulcan equivalent of the artistic temperament, but Archer really disliked this woman. He made a mental note to look up 'vusheran' later—maybe it was a Vulcan insult. If it was, he felt sure he could find a use for it at some point. "Had you seen Sehl that day?"

K'Met regarded him icily. "She was my assistant. I saw her every day."

"And yet you did not know what she was planning?" T'Pol's statement was dispassionate, but sharp as an arrow.

"I never knew what was going on in her head," K'Met returned coolly. "She was a strange young woman. She would work on the exhibit for days, never leaving the exhibit hall. I think she was sleeping here, because she was always here before me when I got here in the morning, and she was sometimes in an unruly state of mind and appearance. I told her it was inappropriate and that I would replace her if it continued." The curator pursed her lips. "Looking back, I suppose she was planning the burglary."

"What about the other people working on the exhibit?" T'Pol asked. "Has anyone been behaving oddly? Dr. Dav? Mr. Shailey?"

"I would hardly know what normal is for either of them," K'Met said with an air of long-suffering patience. "Dav's days seem to consist of drinking Andorian ale in his office and attempting to initiate sexual relationships with as many young women as possible. As for his doting human," she said the word so shortly that it was almost an insult, "I rarely see him. Dav often has him running errands or sequestered away, working on one project or another."

Before Archer could ask anything else, a commotion outside the room interrupted them. Someone was yelling, and it sounded like furniture was being shoved around. Something made of glass shattered. Archer was on his feet and halfway to the door when it burst open, framing a portly Andorian.

"K'Met!" he shouted, pointing an accusing finger at her. "You do not to respond to my communications and you refuse to see me!"

"This is a private meeting." The curator cocked her chin disdainfully. "You must leave."

"I'll do no such thing!" the Andorian shouted. "Not until you tell me what happened to my vetch!"

"I already explained to you that I have no idea where it is, it was _stolen_." K'Met raised her voice slightly.

"By your assistant! Your _Vulcan_ assistant!" the Andorian bellowed. The captain wondered if Vulcans had blood vessels in their brains. If so, this guy was going to pop one.

"Everyone just calm down," he commanded, using what Trip referred to as his 'captain's voice.' When asked, the engineer had explained that 'it's the voice you don't argue with.' It worked, and the shouting stopped.

"Captain Archer, Sekhar Endil, owner of the gearling vetch." Minister Serat introduced them as though they were holding cocktails and discussing golf scores at a dinner party. Politicians, Archer thought. All the same.

"I gathered." He was about to ask the Andorian about his trips to the Orion gambling dens when the blue-skinned man held up a hand to stop him.

"Starfleet?" he asked incredulously. "You brought in the _humans_ to investigate? Without consulting me?!" He threw up his hands and collapsed into a chair. Archer wished everyone would stop saying "humans" as though they were referring to the great unwashed. "I might as well put in my claim to the valuators now," Endil said darkly. "I'll never see my little vetch again."

Archer rubbed his hand over his face. Nothing like a vote of confidence.

"How much is it worth?" T'Pol asked the Andorian.

He seemed to see her for the first time. He took in the Starfleet patch on her arm and narrowed his eyes. "Think I stole it to collect the money from the valuators, do you?"

"No," T'Pol answered. "But you are having financial difficulties, are you not?"

He ignored her question. "Well I didn't steal it. What would be the point? Do you know what it's worth?" T'Pol shook her head. Archer could see she wanted to point out that she had just asked that very question of him. "Neither do I! Neither does anybody! Because it's priceless! The few credits it's valued for couldn't begin to come close to its true worth." His large frame slumped in the chair.

"You'd sell it to that Orion for the cost of a night of gambling!" K'Met narrowed her eyes. "Everyone knows your so-called secret, Endil. Such weakness, over a mere game of chance."

Minister Serat shifted uncomfortably on his feet but kept silent. This meeting was getting away from him, and Archer could see that he didn't know how to regain control. For some reason the Minister seemed unwilling to reign in K'Met's disgruntled behavior. It was a strange dynamic.

"I don't have it!" Endil spat back. "You're welcome to search my homes and my vessels. You won't find it because it isn't there. It isn't anywhere because your assistant _stole_ it! And as usual, you were too busy being seen with Ministers and Councilors to notice!"

Archer sighed inwardly. He hoped Malcolm and Hoshi's inquiries were going better than this.


	7. 7 I May Be Drunk, but

**Chapter 7: I May be Drunk, but…Wait, What Was the Question Again?**

Malcolm sighed inwardly. He hoped the captain and T'Pol's inquiries were going better than this.

It wasn't that Jhemel Dav was uncooperative, it was that he simply refused to even acknowledge the majority of their questions. He spent most of the interview hitting on Hoshi, and Reed was pretty sure he was drunk.

"You're such a lovely young thing," Dav was telling Hoshi, leaning in far too close. She dodged one of his hands as he tried to place it on her knee. "I mean it, I'd really love to paint you," he said for the fourth time. "Or maybe sculpt you," he stage-whispered in her ear. At least, Malcolm thought that was probably the area he was aiming for, but he swayed a bit and ended up whispering into her ponytail.

Hoshi, to her credit, seemed to find the situation amusing. She refused to move or end the interview because when Dav did answer questions, it was the ones she asked. It was noble of her, but Malcolm had had enough.

He pulled the Andorian curator up and looked him in the eye. Reed sucked in his breath as a wave of alcoholic fumes hit him. Drunk as a lord. The Andorians eyes widened. They were shot with blue, Reed noticed, another indication of his inebriation.

"Hey there, friend," Dav awkwardly patted him on the shoulder. "Is she your little lady?" He leaned close to Malcolm. "Maybe she could be, ah, _entertaining_ to both of us, eh?" The Andorian waggled his eyebrows.

Malcolm simply let go of the curator, who immediately lost his balanced and fell into a heap on the floor. "Ow," he moaned. "Oh, I think I landed on my antenna…"

"He's not usually like this," someone behind them said. Malcolm turned to find a slight human male standing in the doorway of Dav's office.

"What, drunk?" Malcolm didn't believe it.

"_This_ drunk. But he's a genius, and all the great geniuses were drinkers, right?"

"You're Kyle Shailey." Hoshi stood and introduced herself and Malcolm. "We're here about the theft."

While Hoshi asked him questions, Malcolm assessed the young man. He had a mop of dark hair, was dressed in an old and badly stained jumpsuit, and wore glasses, which in this day and age were purely an affectation. Leaning down, the human assisted gently Dav back into a chair and checked him over as he answered Hoshi's questions.

"I went for a walk on the Academy grounds," Shailey was saying. "I was retouching one of the Avenarii hunting masks. It's very tedious and precise work and I needed a break."

"Did anyone see you?" Malcolm asked. He pretty much knew the answer.

The young human shook his head. "After I came back I worked for another hour, then called it a night. Nobody was around, it was almost midnight."

"Did you see Sehl that day?" Malcolm wanted to know.

"No," Kyle shook his head emphatically.

"You seem very certain about that."

"We…we'd had an argument the day before. I was avoiding her," Kyle admitted. At Malcolm's insistence he elaborated. "She'd been coming down here, to Dav's office. She kept asking if there was any work she could do for him, and going on about how much she agreed with the _Vehara Nat Sul_ movement. She was always here, pestering."

"You were upset that she was spending time with Dav?" Hoshi asked.

"Upset?" Kyle smirked. "No, Dav liked to spend time with any and every female he came across. He even put the moves on K'Met, the old ice queen. He wouldn't give Sehl any work, though, he only trusted me with that. Sehl was stupid. That's what we argued about."

"Stupid about…?" Malcolm prodded.

"_Vehara Nat Sul_. Somehow she got it in her mind that if we petitioned the Andorian Empire we could get them to initiate proceedings to get some of the artifacts released to the Andorian Academy of the Arts. That was never going to happen—Dav had been petitioning the government for years and nothing had ever come of it, and he's famous! What was she going to do that would make them change their minds? But I think Sehl was attracted to Dav."

"Really?" Malcolm looked at the Andorian, now gently snoring, hands folded across his belly, chin on his chest. His antennae bobbed with each snore. He sort of looked like Santa Claus-a drunken blue Santa with antennae.

"When he's not like this he can be very charming and persuasive. Women fall for it." For a moment Malcolm thought he saw some strange flash of emotion cross the young man's face, but in a heartbeat it was gone. "Even Vulcan women. He has a whole legion of devoted students who would do anything he asked."

Malcolm wondered what exactly "anything" might be.

* * *

Archer paced at the head of the table after hearing their reports. "Although Sehl was not the only one with means, motive, or opportunity to commit the crime, she's still our most likely suspect," he decided. "Our priority is locating her."

"Vulcan and Andorian patrols of the area haven't found any trace of her," T'Pol reminded him. "Our only lead is the sighting at the transport station."

As she was speaking, the communications console began to beep frantically. Hoshi crossed onto the bridge to her station and examined the readout in front of her. "We're being hailed."

Archer had followed her down onto the bridge, as had all the other officers. "By who?"

"Don't know sir," she furrowed her brow, "but they're requesting a secure channel."

Malcolm looked up from the security console. "It's an Orion ship," he said with some alarm. His hands flew into action, no doubt enacting one of his many security protocols.

"Open the channel," Archer directed. Hoshi obeyed, and the main viewscreen flashed to life.

"Greetings, pinkskin!" came a familiar voice.

"Shran?!" Archer voiced the shock they all felt. No one had expected to see the Andorian again any time soon, not after their last trip to Andoria. "What are you doing here? And why are you in an Orion ship?"

"That is a most interesting tale, captain," another voice informed him.

"Kovar?!" Archer shook his head in disbelief, taking in the sight of the Andorian and the Vulcan in front of him. "I'll bet it's a hell of a story. I can't wait to hear it."

Behind him, Archer heard Trip inexplicably mutter something about plot twists.


	8. Interlude I: The Oddest Odd Couple

Author's note: This interlude was originally titled Shran and Kovar's Excellent Adventure, but I didn't want to give much away in the chapter titles. :D

Thank you for the reviews, Cap'n Frances! I'm very glad you're enjoying it. The Maltese Falcon is an excellent book-as T'Pol already said, it's much more about people than it is about the falcon itself.

* * *

**Interlude I: The Oddest Odd Couple - or - Shran and Kovar's Excellent Adventure  
**

Two Days Earlier:

Kovar tried to think of the people of Vulcan. Yes, he was doing this for the people of Vulcan…and the people of Andoria…and the relationship between the two worlds. He was also doing this for his father, he reminded himself, who had put his own career on the line by recommending his son for this mission. For all these noble reasons, and (less nobly) to help his own career, Kovar had agreed to be part of this clandestine operation. He kept reminding himself of this any time he wanted to use the Vulcan nerve pinch on his companion…which was pretty much every waking moment. Would the nerve pinch be enough, Kovar wondered, or would Commander Shran simply keep speaking in an unconscious state? Humans sometimes did that while sleeping, and Andorians were even more loquac—

"Are you listening to a word I'm saying?" Shran demanded.

"I couldn't block it out if I wanted to," Kovar answered flatly.

"Good! Because if anything happens to me, you'll have to fly this ship, and I want it kept in pristine condition."

Had Kovar been human, he might have been insulted by the insinuation that he couldn't handle the operation of a standard Andorian shuttlecraft. Being Vulcan, he simply regarded his companion coolly and replied, "I'm sure it won't be a problem." Further, being Vulcan, it would be unbecoming for Kovar to admit that he got a degree of pleasure out of seeing the Andorian stymied by his emotionless responses. Andorians didn't handle passive aggressive very well. They thrived on _aggressive_ aggressive.

"It'd better not be," Shran said darkly. "It's not like the Vulcans will lend us a ship if something happens to this one."

The two of them had been cooped up in the craft for almost 24 hours, having launched from an Andorian cruiser the day before. They now hurtled toward Vulcan, on their way to the transport station where Sehl had reportedly been seen the evening of the theft.

Because each had the dubious distinction of being in a state of semi-disgrace, the Vulcan and the Andorian now found themselves unavoidably in one another's company. Kovar and Shran had been hired by their respective governments to conduct a covert investigation alongside the one being handled by the humans. _Enterprise_ was a ploy, invited in as a show of diplomatic unity between Vulcan and Andoria. Kovar and Shran, on the other hand, were to use whatever means necessary to find the gearling vetch, not matter what the cost or who the culprit was. Vulcan was embarrassed by the suggestion that one of their own was at fault for the crime, so why not send one renounced Vulcan to look for another? The Andorian Empire was furious at the loss of their cultural artifact, thus sent a man who knew the consequences of losing Andorian assets. Two men at the nadir of their careers from worlds constantly at odds with one another…Kovar wondered if the whole thing was being surreptitiously recorded as some kind of public entertainment.

Shran had moved on from unflattering comments about Vulcan inter-species aid policy and was now complaining about Vulcan cuisine. "…and if you insist on eating that disgusting swill—"

"Plomeek soup."

"Whatever it's called—it stinks! Keep it closed and in the stasis unit!"

"Are we there yet?" Kovar asked rhetorically.

As if in answer, the helm began to beep. Shran studied the controls. "We're coming into Vulcan's outer atmosphere. We'll be at the transport station in a few minutes."

* * *

Kovar had been to the main transport station of ShiKahr many times, but never in the off-world shipping and receiving area before. While nearly all buildings on Vulcan were styled simply and kept extraordinarily clean, this was one place that had somehow escaped that architectural and custodial mandate. It was no wonder, given the amount of traffic that came and went, and given the wide diversity of beings that occupied it on a daily basis.

Wide platforms separated dozens of ships, large and small, that had docked to unload cargo from all over the quadrant. Crewmembers bustled to and fro, packing or unpacking their ships with the assistance of hovering dollies equipped with mechanical loading arms. Kovar thought they looked like some of the larger spiders he had seen on Earth.

As the Vulcan watched, three Nausicaan traders (probably raiders, actually), staggered out of their ship, laughing raucously. One of them paused long enough to empty the contents of his stomach on the platform, which only made his companions laugh more uproariously.

"I like this place!" Shran declared. "Now, the witness—who was, granted, the oldest Vulcan on the entire planet—"

"She was 162. I assure you, there are far older Vulcans."

"Right. Anyway, after we got to hear about her job at the Communications Administration, her son visiting the planet, and his posting on Deneb V—

"Deneb II," Kovar corrected.

"—the old biddy said that Sehl was headed here, to the cargo decks. So where would she go from here?"

"She clearly wanted to leave the planet as quickly and anonymously as possible." Kovar thought about this. "Which makes it strange that she would leave the public transport area. She would stick out like a sore thumb back here."

Shran gave the Vulcan a dirty look. "I wish you would stop using humanisms. The pinkskins are terrible about that." The Andorian turned his attention back to the problem at hand. "Right, so she comes back here despite it being likely that people will note that she doesn't exactly fit in. She must have a plan—she's headed for a specific ship."

"We have been through all of her communications," Kovar pointed out. "There is nothing to suggest that she set up a rendezvous."

"So maybe she was working off of a timetable. A ship that's always here at that time, one that goes somewhere she wanted to go." Kovar had to admit that his partner's thinking on this matter was logical. "Let's ask one of these guys," Shran pointed to a nearby kiosk occupied by an efficient looking Vulcan. He started toward it but halted when Kovar grabbed the back of his shirt, pulling him backward.

"I will ask one of 'these guys,'" he said firmly. "You wait here—and don't talk to anyone." The last thing he needed was to start one interstellar incident while trying to stop another.

Five minutes later he returned to find that Shran hadn't followed instructions. The Andorian was surrounded by five Nausicaans who were listening intently to something he was telling them.

"…so I said, if that's the truth, I'm not gonna Tellar, right?!"

Four of the traders laughed so hard they practically doubled over, clutching their sides. The fifth looked bewildered. "I don't get it."

The others laughed even harder, then slapped him on the back as they headed back toward their ship. "Andorian humor!" one of them chortled as they boarded.

Kovar took a deep breath. "There were six ships here that evening who were on a regular schedule. We should go through them each—"

"It's a Tellarite ship," Shran interjected.

"How do you —"

"The Nausicaans. They told me that there's a Tellarite captain who's known to pick up passengers who wish to leave Vulcan quickly or anonymously. His ship will be here in two hours."

It was going to be a long two hours, Kovar thought.

* * *

What, exactly, did it take for a Vulcan to loosen up? Shran wondered. He's handed Kovar the Tellarite captain on a silver platter, and the Vulcan was _upset_ with him! Although, to be honest, most Vulcans seemed angry to him pretty much all the time. "Emotionless my ass," he mumbled.

If his Vulcan companion overheard this comment, he wisely pretended otherwise. "Ah, there he is now." Kovar nodded to a ship that was making its way gingerly to one of the open docks. Although it was eclectic in form, the crew that spilled out onto the platform was entirely Tellarite.

Shran and Kovar approached. "Let me do the talking," Shran insisted.

"Could I stop you?" Kovar asked, but Shran ignored the barb. He couldn't help it that Vulcans weren't a race that encouraged people to open up to them. Andorians, on the other hand, had a way with people.

"Where do you think you're going?"

The pair froze, then slowly turned in unison.

"Think you're going to sneak aboard? Think this is a pleasure cruiser for thrill seekers?!" A stout Tellarite, almost as wide as he was tall, was approaching them threateningly.

"Indeed not," Kovar assured him. Shran sighed. Why couldn't the Vulcan just do what he asked?

"Pleasure cruiser, no, but we do hear that passage is available on your ship for the right price."

The Tellarite laughed sharply. "Is that so? Whoever told you thinks I would risk my docking clearance to illegally transport passengers on a Class D cargo freighter, therefore they are an idiot. Now get out of here!" He waved something that might have been w walking stick, or might have been a weapon. Either way, the Andorian got the message and hastily retreated.

"That went well," Kovar said as the pair walked away.

"It did, actually," Shran responded, looking around as they walked. "Any minute now we should…"

A Tellarite brushed past them both, as though in a great hurry. "This way," he whispered as he swept past Shran, "but not too close."

"There we are!" Shran clapped a hand on the Vulcan's shoulder. Kovar looked mystified. "Come on, you didn't think we were just going to go up and ask for information and they'd give it to us, did you?" Shran rather enjoyed the look of uncertainty that flickered in the Vulcan's eyes.

They followed their guide on a roundabout route that ended at the back of the Tellarite ship. Before either could ask any questions, the two were bundled inside, where they met the captain once again. This time, however, he was calm, collected, and ready to do business.

"Now, so we're clear, it's three thousand Tellar credits—or the equivalent, I'm not above making trades—for passage to Tellar, Aldus Prime, or Deneva. More for Teneebia or anywhere inside the Borderlands."

"Actually, we just want information on one of your recent passengers," Shran explained.

"That'll cost you too." The Tellarite seemed unfazed by this change in tack.

"Of course," Shran assured him, handing the captain a small screen showing an image of Sehl. "This would have been two nights ago, very late. She's a Vulcan woman, light hair and green eyes."

"Ah. Yes, her. Well, I can't be entirely sure it was her. Had a hood on, covered a lot of her face. But blonde and green-eyed. Had a big bag with her." He looked at the two of them expectantly.

Shran realized what he was waiting for. "Right." He dug into a pocket and pulled out several small, thin bars of metal. "This should be sufficient." He handed two of them over to the captain, who accepted them greedily.

"Latinum," Shran answered Kovar's questioning look. "Just hit the markets. Non-replicable."

"You brought along currency for bribery?" Kovar asked.

"You didn't?" Shran asked.  
"I'm an engineer and a Vulca—"

"She wanted passage to Aldus Prime," the Tellarite captain told them after he had inspected the strips. "But when we made a stop at an outpost, she decided to get out there instead."

"Where is the outpost?" Kovar asked, but the captain shook his head and looked at them expectantly again.

Shran thought for a moment. "Instead of telling us where you dropped her, why don't you take us there?" He waved the metal strips again. "We'll pay what she paid."

The Tellarite considered this for a moment. "Double."

"Done."


	9. Interlude II: Buddy Cops

**Interlude II: Buddy Cops -or- Shran and Kovar's Bogus Journey**

If Kovar hadn't enjoyed the shuttle experience with Shran, the Tellarite ship was a thousand times worse. They had been packed away in the cargo hold, which was nearly full of crate after crate of zeebst, a type of Teneebrian slugs, apparently considered a delicacy on several worlds. They required a cold climate for safe transport, and they smelled vaguely like rotting flesh. Shran didn't seem bothered by either of these things, nor by the fact that they had left their own shuttle behind to travel in these less-than-ideal conditions.

"We have no way of guaranteeing that this guy would give us the correct information," Shran pointed out, "but if we pay for passage, we'll get passage."

"If he would be dishonest in one case, he could just as easily be dishonest in the other," Kovar countered. Shran just shrugged off his concerns and went to sleep. When they arrived the next morning at the outpost on a small moon just off of Aldus Prime, the Andorian was no worse for wear while Kovar felt he was, as the humans put it, at his wits end.

Now, as they stood in the office of the magistrate in charge of the outpost, at least it seemed it would not be a wasted journey.

"Yes, I recognize her," the magistrate, a man of a species Kovar did not recognize, told them. He had a thick mane of white hair and scaly greenish skin. The hand that he tiredly ran over his face was webbed up to its second knuckles, and his eyes were entirely black.

"Where did she go?" Shran asked impatiently. "Was she carrying anything?"

"Why are you interested in this woman? Are you working for law enforcement of some kind?"

"Not at all," Kovar assured him. "She is a missing friend, we're just trying to find out where she went. She…stole a family heirloom." Vulcans didn't lie, but sometimes he found it useful to be creative in the truths he told.

The magistrate looked at him sadly. "I'm afraid she didn't have anything with her, and she was taken to the hospital."

"Why?" Shran demanded. "Was she injured? Is she still there now?"

"Oh, she's still there. We found this woman dead just outside the gates two days ago. The body was brought to the hospital for an autopsy, though our doctor won't be back for another three days to conduct it."

For once, Shran had no response. If he'd been in a more relaxed environment, Kovar would have noted the time and stardate in his personal log.

"May we see the body?" asked the Vulcan. He did not relish examining the corpse of a fellow Vulcan, but perhaps that would yield their next clue.

"Of course," the magistrate agreed. "Our outpost medical technician—he's in charge while our doctor is on leave—isn't there right now, however. I'll call him and we'll go over to view the body together." The man pressed a button on his communication panel and spoke. "Bebareta, can you meet me in my office as soon as possible? I have an urgent matter I need you to attend to."

"Aye," came the gruff response. "On my way."

The magistrate sat back in his chair. "While we're waiting, let me offer you some vidnos." He reached behind his head and pulled a glass decanter from a low shelf. Opening his desk drawer, he withdrew three glasses. "It's quite good—I only bring it out for guests."

Kovar would have preferred to decline, but felt in situations such as these that he had to conform to social expectations. He gingerly took a sip of the dark green liquid in his glass. It reminded him of ko'vnatos, a fermented Vulcan tea.

Shran took a deep swig, downing the liquid in one swallow. "Vidnos." The Andorian squinted, trying to remember something. "That's Tellarite liquor, isn't it?" His facial expression changed, becoming bewildered, then alarmed.

Kovar was about to ask what the problem was when he felt it—a tingling sensation followed by numbness, starting in his chest and moving rapidly outward to his limbs. "The vidnos," he croaked. His mouth was difficult to move, his tongue felt like a leaden lump. Beside him he heard Shran fall to the floor.

"No," the magistrate smiled, taking a deep drink of his own liquor. "The glasses. Don't worry, you're not dying."

With effort, Kovar turned his head to see Shran slumped on the floor. "Why?" Kovar asked hoarsely. It was taking all of his mental fortitude to stay awake.

"Profit," the magistrate shrugged, swirling the liquid in his glass. "A Vulcan and an Andorian male won't fetch much," he sounded very far away to Kovar, who was falling backward into soft blackness, "but the Orions aren't picky."

* * *

Shran came to consciousness unwillingly, succumbing to a waking state only when it became clear that his unhappy brain would no longer let him sleep. Ooooooh, his head. His head was pounding.

As a young man, Shran had once or twice (or several times) imbibed more Andorian ale that was strictly advisable. He knew the consequences of inebriation—his people called it siklavet: the head hammer. Siklavet was hard at work in his brain now. He moaned, but that didn't help.

"Shhhhhhh!" someone nearby hissed urgently.

"Stop shouting!" he whispered back, opening his eyes. Light streamed into his brain. That wasn't good at _all_.

"Do not alert our captors!"

Oh yeah, this guy. The Vulcan. What was his name again? Something short and Vulcan-y, like Sovat or Tuvor. "What captors?" Kovar, that was his name.

"Orions. Do you not remember what happened?"

Shran tried the opening-his-eyes thing again, this time with more success. He was lying flat on his stomach on the riveted metal floor of a ship, his head turned sharply and one side of his face firmly planted against the ground. His arms and legs were bound by some kind of restraints that dug sharply into his skin. A few feet away he could see a door and a narrow stairway, but little else was in his field of vision. As his antennae adjusted to his position, the world stopped dipping and bucking; he realized that the ship wasn't moving. With monumental effort he wriggled and shifted until he was able to turn his head onto its other side.

Beside him was his Vulcan companion, looking indignant but unharmed. "Don't let them see you are awake," he told Shran. "They have come to check on our status three times in the last hour."

Beyond Kovar, Shran could see why the ship wasn't moving. The cargo bay door was open, revealing a campfire and three men sitting at a makeshift table, playing some kind of game. One was the Tellarite captain that had brought them to the outpost, two were Orions he'd never seen before. As he watched, one of the Orions dealt out cards and they all began betting furiously with one another.

"That magistrate, he drugged us…" It started to come back to the Andorian. "Why did I drink that vidnos?"

"The glasses were drugged, not the beverage." This seemed to Shran to be a small distinction, but Kovar kept going. "The magistrate appears to have a standing agreement with the Orions to provide humanoids for the slave markets on a regular basis. The Tellarite captain is the middle man, providing passengers who are already traveling anonymously. I think the captain has similar arrangements with officials at his other ports of call."

Shran wasn't very interested in the details, he wanted to focus on getting out of this situation. "Great. We have to get out of these restraints, any ideas? I can't even see them, what do they look like?"

"Denebrian manacles."

Shran thought for a moment, his head still pounding but gradually clearing. "We're not in bad shape. They become brittle at very high or very low temperatures and can be broken."

"The locking mechanism can also be jammed with a sturdy blade," Kovar informed him, "and the cuffs pried open with an electromagnetic charge."

"Understood. So we need to find a blade and figure out how to genera—" Shran stopped as he realized something. He sighed. "You already did this, didn't you?"

Kovar nodded.

"How—never mind. Can you free me?"

The Vulcan nodded again. "But I don't think that is advisable until we have a solid plan of escape."

"You free me, we get onto the bridge. We steal this ship." In Shran's mind, it was very simple. What more did the Vulcan think could be added to that plan? The Orions and the Tellarite started shouting at one another, plainly caught up in their game. The time to act was _now_. "I don't think our hosts will even notice we've gone until it's too late. They're over-confident, and that's going to be their downfall." He gave the Vulcan a maniacal grin.

Kovar did not look convinced, but acquiesced. Slipping out of his restraints, he quickly began working on Shran's. Within minutes the Andorian felt a sharp electrical shock, then the blissful removal of the uncomfortable cuffs.

The pair waited until another round of the game had been dealt and the betting began in earnest before making their move.

"What did you use to create the electromagnetic charge?" Shran asked quietly as they headed up the narrow stairway in search of the bridge. This ship was a small Orion cruiser and although he hadn't actually been in one before, he had seen schematics for similar ships while preparing for tactical drills.

"I had a communicator hidden in my belt." Kovar motioned toward a door but Shran shook his head, pointing to a short corridor. At the end was another door, which opened onto the bridge. "Unfortunately, using it to free us from the restraints has damaged the unit beyond repair."

"I'm sure we can figure out how to contact the Imperial Guard—"

"Or the High Council—"

"—from this ship." Shran sat down at a nearby console and looked over the controls. "This looks like the tactical system."

"This is the helm." Kovar sat at another console.

"Can you—" The ship began to power up. "I guess you can," Shran finished.

"I am familiar with many types of vessels," Kovar's said matter-of-factly.

This was fine by Shran. "Great. Get us out of here."

"Gladly," his companion told him. "Closing cargo bay doors."

Shran found the controls for the main viewscreen and turned it on, accessing the external video data receivers. He started laughing hysterically at the image that came up on the screen—two very angry Orions and a scared-looking Tellarite were pounding furiously on the closed cargo bay doors. The small group was blown backwards as the ship lifted off. Shran noticed the Tellarite had pulled out a small device and was yelling into it. "I think our Tellarite friend is calling his ship," he told Kovar. "Can we outrun them?"

"I believe so," the Vulcan said, scrutinizing the helm console. "The Tellarite ship is in stationary orbit approximately 400 kilometers from our position." Tapping a few buttons, he replaced the image of the enraged Orions with a spacescape. At the center of it floated the Tellarite ship, which, as they watched, began to turn towards them. Kovar responded in kind. "Setting a course for three-seven-nine mark two, toward Vulcan."

"Let's just make sure they don't follow," murmured Shran. He had already discovered that this little cruiser had been modified with a set of small plasma torpedoes, and now he trained them onto the approaching ship. He, too, was familiar with many types of ships—and even more weapons systems. "Firing torpedoes!" he cried. Gods, how he loved the sounds of tactical warfare on a starship bridge.

"You've hit their aft engines," Kovar noted. Shran could swear the Vulcan actually seemed impressed by this. The two shared a brief moment of mutual respect. "The port engine is inoperable."

On the viewscreen, the Tellarite ship had ceased following them and was now reeling uncertainly, apparently unable to regain attitude control. Piece of debris trailed behind the ship as it spun slowly away from them.

Shran bid them a mental farewell before directing his attention to more important matters. "Now, let's get this communication system working. I wonder if anyone is nearby?"


	10. 8 Zen and the Art of

**Chapter 8: Zen and the Art of Keeping Your Mouth Shut**

"…and the Orions were so busy fighting the Tellarite over the card game, they didn't notice that we'd untied ourselves. They had no idea what was happening until the ship lifted off from the planet!" Shran finished, slapping a hand on the table. "I'd almost feel sorry for abandoning them, if they hadn't kidnapped and threatened to sell us. I doubt that Tellarite ship was in any condition to bring them up from the surface." Shran had insisted on going to the mess hall, which is where they were now seated. According to Shran, neither he nor Kovar had eaten in almost two days.

"The outpost is 40 kilometers from where we left them," Kovar informed the _Enterprise_ officers. "I am certain they will be able to find it." He cocked his head. "If they are not arrested and detained first."

Shran laughed and took another gulp of his drink.

"The Aldan security force was very interested to hear about the activities taking place at one of their outposts," Captain Archer let them know. "They already towed the Tellarite ship back to Aldus Prime. I think everyone involved in this business is going to be facing consequences."

Shran raised his drink in a mock human-style toast to this news. "Well done, Captain!"

"This is all very entertaining, but what are you all doing out here?" Trip asked the question on everyone's minds.

Kovar put down his fork and pressed his napkin to his lips. "Looking for the gearling vetch, just as you are."

"Who hired you?" Archer demanded.

"The same people who hired you, pinkskin," Shran told him. "Vulcan and Andoria."

Archer was trying to wrap his head around this new development. "Why would they hire two sets of people for the same job?"

"Our operation was to be more covert, while you were brought in for diplomatic reasons," Kovar explained. "My understanding is that you were not meant to solve the case, simply make a show of bringing the two governments together."

"We're here as a photo op?" Malcolm was furious.

T'Pol understood his anger: they had all put serious time and effort into the investigation, time that could have been spent elsewhere. But she was curious. "Were you successful? Did you find Sehl?"

"Yes," Kovar nodded. "But she did not have the vetch."

"Who has it?" Malcolm asked. "Did she sell it?"

"We don't know." Shran held up a hand as though to hold back Malcolm's questions.

"What did she say?" the armory officer continued. "Did she admit to the theft?"

Shran's antennae quivered atop his head. "She didn't admit to anything," he said regretfully. "She's dead."

"I told you," Trip crossed his arms. "Plot twists."

* * *

It took very little for the Aldan security forces now in control of the outpost near Aldus Prime to be persuaded to release Sehl's body to _Enterprise_. They had enough on their hands at the moment and seemed happy to hand this this case over to Starfleet. All that was left was for Phlox to complete his autopsy.

Shran had retreated with Archer to the captain's ready room for a drink, leaving his Vulcan partner on his own. Kovar trusted Archer, but memories of his last complimentary drink were too fresh in his mind to allow him to accept the captain's invitation.

"Why don't I show you to the guest quarters?" Trip suggested. "You look like you could use some sleep."

Kovar didn't disagree and was now following the human through the _Enterprise_ corridors.

"So, how've you been?" the engineer asked. He was kind of happy to see Kovar again. During the Shomar mission he'd felt the Vulcan to be something a kindred spirit, a man curious to learn more about other cultures, people, and places. He was one of the only Vulcans Trip had ever met who didn't seem repulsed by humans, having even adopted a few of their idiosyncrasies. If circumstances had been different Trip felt that he and Kovar might have been friends. As it was, Kovar had been one of the engineers responsible for the listening post at P'Jem, an act which had set him on a complicated trajectory of deceit, loss, and, ultimately, isolation; it was, in many ways, similar to the consequences T'Pol had experienced. When Vulcans had baggage, Trip observed, they had _baggage_.

Kovar was as unVulcanlike as ever. He pushed a hand through his untidy hair, which stuck out wildly from his head. "Not bad. I've been gradually restoring my career on Vulcan."

"Is that why you're on this mission?" Trip asked.

"I'm not in a position to turn down opportunities that may ingratiate me to my government. I think Commander Shran is in the same position."

"He must be interesting to work with." Trip imagined it must be like one of those old odd-couple "buddy-cop" films he used to watch as a kid. The cool, logical Vulcan and the fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants Andorian—he'd watch that movie. Hell, he'd show that movie at Movie Night and sell tickets.

"Interesting doesn't begin to cover it. The Commander has a…formidable personality," was all Kovar would say before changing the subject. "How is Commander T'Pol? How is your relationship progressing?"

Trip cleared his throat. "Ah, she's well. We're fine—good. It's going well." Kovar always seemed to bring this subject up, but Trip was still unprepared to answer the question. "I got her a birthday present."

"That _is_ progress. If she shared that information with you, it must be serious."

"She didn't exactly share it," Trip admitted. "I sort of got the information on my own and surprised her." Kovar stopped walking. Uh-oh, thought Trip. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything. "She did seem to enjoy the present," he offered.

Kovar began walking again, but still said nothing. When they reached the guest quarters he extended a hand to the chief engineer, who shook it, confused. "Commander, you are a brave man," he told Trip. "I believe your gamble will be successful. I am…" he searched for the correct phrasing, "...in your corner." With that, the Vulcan disappeared into the cabin.

What did that mean? "What does that mean?" he asked the closed door nervously. It remained silent on the subject.

* * *

Please, thought Trip as he kicked off his shoes and settled himself cross-legged onto his mattress, please don't let anything happen for the next hour. Even the next half hour. No engine malfunctions, no unexpected visitors, no sudden breaks in the Case of the Missing Million-Dollar Badger. He just wanted a solid thirty minutes alone—_alone_—with T'Pol.

"I must agree." He heard her almost the moment he closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. She had clearly been waiting for him. He opened his eyes and grinned. They'd been meeting almost nightly in the White Space for a few months, and he found he never tired of the time he spent here. Coming here had started to feel like home to him.

After losing both his sister and his hometown in the Xindi attack he'd felt unmoored. He'd turned to her for support, for a sense of belonging. It had taken a long time, as they were interrupted by her marriage to another, his transfer off of _Enterprise_, and some general trying to save the galaxy kinds of things (you know, the usual), but here they were at last. And tonight was special, because tonight, come hell or high water, he was going to see what happened in this White Space when they—

"I saw that you scheduled The Maltese Falcon for Movie Night," T'Pol said matter-of-factly, breaking him from his reverie.

"Of course. I can hardly break from tradition, can I? Besides, it's an amazing movie—one of the most celebrated classics of the genre. Bogart, Peter Lorre, Sydney Greenstreet, Mary Astor—some of the greatest actors of their time." He dragged his mind from his previous thoughts.

"I'll try to finish the book before the movie," she told him earnestly.

"It's not exactly a reading assignment, T'Pol. The movie really is good and pretty true the book, so if you don't get around to it, don't worry."

"I would much rather find out "whodunit" from your gift," she said simply, and it kind of touched him…and also reminded him that he had something important to get out in the open.

"Ah, T'Pol, I've been meaning to talk to you about the whole 'birthday gift' thing."

"What 'thing' is that?" She cocked her head, curious. "The 'thing' where you obtained intimate information about me from an outside source?"

Geez, when she said it like that it kinda sounded bad. "Uh, yeah." He cleared his throat, suddenly unsure how to approach this. "Look, I know it's kind of a big deal and I just want you to know that it wasn't my intention to make you uncomfortable or offend you. I just want to make that clear."

The Vulcan regarded him, inscrutable. Even through their bond, he could read nothing (damned Vulcan neurophysiology!). A moment turned into seconds which felt like hours. Finally, she relented. "I am aware that it is not 'a big deal,' for humans, so I know you meant no offense. It was a romantic gesture, and I appreciate it as such."

Trip blew out a breath, relieved. "I knew it would be fine. It's just that Kovar had me all worried that it was some huge thing and—ow!" He rubbed his head (which was ridiculous, since his head was only a figment of his imagination here). She had given him a sharp mental "poke" (a trick she still refused to teach him).

"You spoke to _Kovar_ about this matter?" she asked. He didn't need to be an expert in vocal inflections to know that she was _not_ happy to hear this.

Suddenly he was wishing for something, anything, to rescue him—an engine malfunction, unexpected visitors, a break in the Case of the Missing Million-Dollar Badger—anything. He wasn't picky. "We-ell, sort of. I mean, not really. I just sort of mentioned it, you know, to get some feedback-" he knew he should stop talking but just couldn't seem to do it.

Trip felt another poke and found himself back in his quarters. Alone.

"Archer to the senior officers," came the captain's voice though his comm link. "Report to Sickbay."

"Two minutes too late," he groused to the comm panel before hauling himself off his bed.


	11. 9 The Secret Lives of Vulcans

**Chapter 9: The Secret Lives of Vulcans**

"Oh, she's been dead for several days," Phlox said jovially, uncovering the head of the deceased Vulcan. "Probably since the night of the theft, or the day after." He regarded the eclectic crowd that currently occupied his sickbay with some interest. Lt. Reed was pacing restlessly at the foot of the hospital bed upon which the Vulcan lay. Archer stood, arms crossed, to one side of Sehl's body. On either side of him stood Shran and Kovar. T'Pol stood opposite Archer; Trip had arrived shortly after her and stood, uncharacteristically, quite a few feet away from the science officer. Phlox noted that upon the engineer's entrance, T'Pol had given Trip what was known around the ship as "the cold eyebrow": one raised eyebrow and a slight pursing of her lips that said "not. now." He wondered what that was about.

"Can't you be more precise?" Shran frowned. The Andorian had a way of making every statement sound like a demand.

"I'm sure that if the doctor knew the exact time of death he would have said so." Kovar sounded weary. Phlox guessed that the pair had had many similar exchanges since their partnership began only a few days ago.

"The body was exposed to the elements for an unknown period of time, and the hospital at the outpost had abysmal facilities," the Denobulan explained. "Fluctuating temperatures in their storage locker accelerated decay and are making it impossible to pinpoint a more accurate time of death."

"How was she killed?" T'Pol wanted to know.

"Plasma burst." Phlox uncovered the body to the waist, revealing a large star shaped burn pattern in the center of her torso. "Point blank range," he added unnecessarily.

Malcolm leaned down to examine the wound. "That looks like it came from an Antillian plasma pistol."

"Very good, lieutenant! That was my conclusion as well."

"A very tricky little firearm," the armory officer continued, straightening. Malcolm knew his weapons and enjoyed showing off his knowledge on the subject. "Sensitive firing mechanism. That weapon is only for the expert marksman...or the idiot who thinks they're an expert marksman."

"Her death would have been very quick," Phlox covered the Vulcan's torso again.

"What caused this?" Kovar had paced around the body to the head and he now pointed to a large green bruise that extended from the bridge of her nose to her jaw.

"That was caused perimortem. Additionally, she has two broken fingernails and a fractured wrist, also perimortem. It seems she was in a physical altercation just before her death. Perhaps she attempted to fight off her attacker before being killed."

"Any DNA from the wounds?" Archer had uncovered one of the Vulcan's hands and was examining her broken nails.

"Unfortunately, no. There _was_ DNA on the body from several sources, but none that might shed light on who the killer was. All of it suffered significant degradation over the past few days. All I can say it that sometime in the hours before her death Sehl came in contact with two Andorians, two humans, at least three Vulcans, and an Orion. I did find something unusual, however," he paused. Six pairs of eyes looked at him expectantly.

"She had sex shortly before her death," Phlox told the officers, "with an Andorian."

* * *

"A Vulcan and an Andorian? Impossible!" Shran was adamant.

Although it was not a common gesture for his people, Kovar gave a long-suffering sigh. His partner was prone to making unfounded comments such as these, despite whatever facts might be present.

"Clearly it is possible," Kovar said patiently. "Vulcans and Andorians are anatomically compatible—"

"Who's talking about anatomy?" Shran asked irritably. "Can you honestly tell me that you can think of any—_any_—scenario in which a Vulcan and an Andorian would willingly mate?"

"It may be an unusual occurrence, but I can assure you, it did happen." Phlox smiled cheerfully.

"It's unnatural," Shran growled.

"Interspecies relationships are neither unnatural nor unheard of, Commander," T'Pol said evenly, leveling her gaze at the Andorian. Kovar noticed that Commander Tucker's head jerked up when she said this. He seemed to be experiencing some sort of blood vessel dilation around the skin of his nose and cheekbones—what did the humans call this emotional response? Brushing? T'Pol met the human's eyes briefly before she looked away again.

"Interspecies relationships are one thing, a Vulcan and an Andorian carrying on together is another!" Shran's voice was rising. The Andorian's antennae quivered, conveying the intensity of his feelings on the subject.

Kovar felt an argument brewing. With Shran, everything from what you ate for breakfast to the way you put your boots on was cause for dispute. "What about the Orion?" the Vulcan asked, deflecting attention. "It would not be unusual for Sehl to be in contact with at least two Andorians—Endil and Dav—but where would she come across an Orion?"

"Good question," Archer was also happy to redirect the conversation. "Any nearby that we know of?"

"Yes!" Malcolm said suddenly, as if just remembering something. "The Orion that Endil was communicating with: Hesan. He runs gambling den on a ship that stays somewhere in the vicinity of Aldus Prime."

"See if you can find out where that ship is now," Archer instructed.

"I may be able to help," Kovar offered. "The Vulcan government keeps track of traders like Hesan."

"The Vulcans? Keeping tabs on someone? Who would have thought." Shran's mouth twisted into a dark smile. "Worried about the bad influence of the Orions?"

Ignored the barb but responded to the question. "More like worried about the security of sensitive data. Hesan's primary business is selling information: state secrets, business affairs, personal matters—anything that he thinks will bring in money is fair game."

"The gearling vetch would certainly bring in a pretty penny," Malcolm pointed out.

"There aren't many people who could find a buyer for an artifact as recognizable as the vetch," Shran noted, "but someone like Hesan would be able to manage it." Kovar had to agree—the Andorian could make a valid point every once in a while.

"Maybe we should pay Mr. Hesan a visit." Captain Archer nodded thoughtfully.


	12. 10 Chivalry Isn't Dead

**Chapter 9: Chivalry Isn't Dead, but It Is Annoying**

T'Pol was heading back to the bridge from sickbay when she found Kovar falling in step beside her. She gritted her teeth and ignored him, hoping he would continue on past her. He did not.

"Commander, it's agreeable to see you again," he began. "I have often wondered how you're progressing here on _Enterprise_."

"I have been on this ship for over four years." She did not look at him as she walked. "I would say that indicates that I am doing well."

"True," Kovar conceded. "It must be fascinating to work so closely with humans. You have so many opportunities that other Vulcans don't. There are so many experiences you must have had that are completely unique for our peop—"

"Was there something you wanted?" T'Pol came to a halt and turned to face the other Vulcan. Her face was emotionless but her tone betrayed her annoyance.

"Given your apparent irritation with Commander Tucker, I take it you are aware that he spoke to me about your relationship." Kovar got right to the point.

"The details of my personal relationship with the Commander are none of your business. As a Vulcan, I would think you would respect that."

"I do," Kovar tipped his head. "I didn't initiate a conversation on the subject. As a human in a relationship with a Vulcan, I think your Commander may sometimes feel a little…out of his depth."

T'Pol's kept her expression as inscrutable as possible. What was Kovar saying? Was Trip overwhelmed by her? Was her behavior too uncompromising? Too foreign? These thoughts streamed through her mind, but she said nothing.

Kovar noted her silence and continued. "Humans, I have found, sometimes need to talk about things. What we would consider unnecessary conversation—I assume you've heard the term "small talk"—actually serves a social purpose. They are often able to gauge the reactions and emotional states of friends and colleagues using this device. I don't think Commander Tucker meant offense by discussing your relationship with me—and I would point out that it was a very, very brief conversation— I think he just wanted…feedback." The Vulcan swept a hand toward the open corridor in front of them, indicating that they should continue walking.

T'Pol started toward the bridge again, her mind in a tumult. Every time she felt she had a handle on being romantically involved with a human, something like this happened to make her feel she was back at the beginning of it all again. Being with Trip could be so _aggravating_. A nearby comm broke through her thoughts.

"This is the captain. T'Pol, report to the ready room."

* * *

Something was going on between them, no doubt. The captain had long ago learned to read the body language of his crew to determine their emotional state in any given situation. Right now his chief engineer and science officer were decidedly at odds. Trip's arms were crossed in front of him and T'Pol's were clasped behind her back. Each seemed to be doing their best to ignore the other. Archer plowed forward regardless, relying on their unquestionable professionalism. Whatever personal trouble they were having could wait.

"When we find Hesan's ship, I want to send an away team out to board it," Archer told them. "I need you two to lead the team. If I could, I'd rather send my armory officer than my chief engineer, but you two are the only crew members who are immune to the effects of Orion females. We can't take the chance that what happened with Harrad-Sar could happen again."

"A logical course of action," T'Pol agreed.

Trip looked a little less comfortable with the idea. "We're both immune to the Orions," he pointed out. "Why put all of our eggs in one basket? I can go to the ship with the away team, T'Pol can monitor our operations from the bridge." Whatever was going on between them certainly hadn't dampened his chief engineer's sense of chivalry. The captain opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by T'Pol.

"It would make more sense for me to go to the vessel," she said, taking a step toward Trip. "I have had more experience with alien races and, as science officer, am the better candidate to open a dialogue with Hesan."

"Actuall—" Archer tried to get a word in, but Trip and T'Pol were having this conversation without him.

"We know these Orions operate slave markets. As a woman and a Vulcan—" The engineer had taken a step closer to the Vulcan. They were now almost nose to nose with one another, jaws set and voices hard.

"That is an outdated and sexist statement on many levels. I assure you, I can handle myself better than—"

"You can both handle yourselves," Archer said loudly, raising his hands. "You are both leading the away team. That's my decision and it's final." Archer shook his head and sighed, looking at his two officers. "You know, this bond between the two of you seems to be amplifying your stubbornness," he told them as he crossed behind his desk and sat down. "I can't decide if that's a good thing or not."

Trip and T'Pol looked at one another then back at the captain, dumbfounded.

"You know about that, sir?" Trip asked sheepishly.

Archer felt very gratified by the shocked looks on their faces. Trip was turning a particularly bright shade of pink. "I'm the captain," he leaned back in his chair. "Of _course_ I know."

* * *

Malcolm had no idea what had transpired in the ready room, but the Trip and T'Pol that exited the room were not quite the same officers that had entered it only a few minutes earlier. He shot the engineer a questioning look, but Trip only shook his head before hastily exiting the bridge. Was he…blushing? T'Pol kept her eyes studiously on her console. Shrugging, he turned back to his own station. He had plenty to keep him busy at the moment.

As he waited for Kovar to analyze the data the Vulcan High Council had shared on Hesan's whereabouts, Malcolm occupied himself by running continuous scans of the area around Aldus Prime. He had Travis locating the identification codes for every vessel they came across on the off chance that one registered as Orion. At the same time he was also designing three defensive strategies the away team could employ if they got into trouble on the Orion vessel: one using phase pistols, one using a combination of phase rifles and pistols, and one using martial arts and throwing knives. Okay, they probably wouldn't use the last one, but it was damn fun to put together.

'Throwing knives—interesting choice." Kovar was leaning over his shoulder, examining the readout in front of the armory officer.

"You don't think it's too…showy?"

Kovar shook his head. "I think it makes a statement."

"Yes, I like to think it says 'I'll stab you if you don't get out of my way.'" Malcolm patted the console fondly. "Have you finished analyzing that data?"

Kovar straightened back up, hands behind his back. "Yes, but the news isn't good. Our surveillance teams lost track of Hesan several months ago and have not been able to locate him again. They think he switched ships, but there is no record of a sale anywhere. He could have obtained a new ship in any number of ways."

"So he could be anywhere," Malcolm concluded, thinking. "How can we—"

"Sir, I think I have something!" This news came, uncharacteristically, from Travis. Malcolm and Kovar stepped down to the helm just as Archer entered the bridge from his ready room.

"Anything yet?" he asked.

Malcolm pointed to Travis, who swiveled in his chair to face them all. "Sir, I've been checking the identification codes for all the vessels in the vicinity of Aldus Prime, and there's one that doesn't check out." He tapped a few buttons on his console and brought up a magnified image of a large freighter in a stationary orbit around a small ice moon.

"This is the _Michael Collins_. It's an earth freighter owned by Edward O'Donnell and his family."

"Boomers?" the captain asked his resident expert.

Travis nodded. "But it doesn't make any sense. It shouldn't be here, in stationary orbit. After Edward's father died, he swore he'd keep the family business going." Travis turned back to his console. "I ran a scan to try to see if anything was wrong with the ship, if it's being repaired or is damaged, but scanners are being jammed."

As they watched the ship on the screen, several smaller vessels approached it an, one by one, entering the larger ship's docking bay. They had found their gambling den.

"Well, looks like we didn't need the High Council after all. Shran will certainly be relieved." Malcolm looked sideways at Kovar.

"I'll let you tell him," was all the Vulcan would say.


	13. 11 It's What's Inside that Counts

**Chapter 11: It's What's Inside That Counts**

"I'm still not comfortable with this," Trip said for the third time, snaking a finger under his collar in an attempt to adjust the civilian shirt he had been given to wear. He knew he was being annoying, but that was part of his plan. Maybe if he were annoying enough T'Pol would drop out of the away mission.

"_We know_," both Shran and Kovar said in unison. T'Pol said nothing as she adjusted her blouse on her slim frame. She was not perturbed in the slightest; Shran, on the other hand, looked like he wanted to punch the engineer and Kovar mumbled something about Malcolm giving him a throwing knife. Giving up, he climbed aboard the shuttle with the others.

Of course his concern was ridiculous. As Travis maneuvered the shuttle toward the freighter the engineer reminded himself that T'Pol's Vulcan strength far outstripped his own. Trip was actually the delicate one in their relationship. His hackles rose, though, when he thought about the Orions trafficking in people—in sex slaves. He didn't care that it was the Orion women who were actually calling the shots, the whole thing was appalling either way and the thought of T'Pol being put on an auction block made his blood boi—

"Unknown vessel, identify yourself," came a curt voice through the comm system.

Trip opened a channel. "Just some travelers looking for a good time here, no need to worry."

"Identify yourselves," the voice demanded again.

"We're just heading to Andoria," Trip tried again. "We just want to stop and relax a little, recharge the ol' batteries, if you know what I mean." He was straying from the script that Malcolm had prepared and he felt the conversation slipping away from him.

"We are friends with Sekhar Endil," T'Pol supplied.

The comm was silent.

"Yes, Endil said this would be an excellent location for some rest and relaxation," Shran piped up. "But if our money isn't welcome here, we'll just head to your competitors."

The comm stayed silent.

"Clearly Endil was mistaken," Kovar said, sounding for all the world like an irritated customer. "We'll be on our way."

"Docking access granted," the voice snapped.

* * *

Whatever the freighter had looked like originally, it was light years away from that now. Trip had never seen anything like it. While the outside was a bland and nondescript, the inside was anything but. Enormous exotic plants grew along the walls and hung down from walkways, and beneath their feet was a soft, springy sod-like material that ranged in color from brilliant mauve to deep teal. Above them, chandeliers glittered and moved, giving the appearance of starbursts and supernovae along the ceiling of the ship.

As fantastic as all of this was, between the sod and the chandeliers were the main attractions of the vessel. Gambling tables stretched the entire length of the ship, as far as the eye could see. Beautiful women laden with trays moved gracefully between the tables, serving drinks and refreshments. Their attractive male counterparts operated the tables or saw to serving small private tents and booths that lined the edges of the vast space.

Travis let out a low whistle.

"Not your normal cargo vessel décor?" Trip asked.

The young helmsman shook his head. An Orion woman wearing a shimmering golden bodice and little else walked by them, looking Travis up and down. "Uh, I think I'll stay with the shuttle," he told them nervously before darting back to the ship. Trip guessed that he was still a little embarrassed about his behavior the last time he'd come in contact with an Orion woman.

"Well," Trip spread his hands in a 'what now' gesture and spun slowly around, taking in the whole of the ship, "where do we start?"

"We locate Hesan." T'Pol was looking at her wrist, reading the scanner that was attached there, disguised as an elaborate piece of jewelry. "I'm reading several Orions, but the scanner is still impaired by the jammers. At this distance I can't tell if they are male or female."

"Let's take a closer look." Trip held out his arm for T'Pol to take. She hesitated. "We're civilians on vacation," he reminded her. Her mouth twitched as she took his arm and they started walking. Although she said nothing, he felt a momentary spike of affection as he closed his hand over hers.

Kovar began to follow, then twisted his head around to look at Shran, who lagged behind.

"I'm not taking your arm," the Andorian growled, shoving past the Vulcan.

Kovar's eyebrows shot up and he followed the Starfleet and Andorian commanders without a word.

The small party hadn't made it far when Trip felt a firm grip on his shoulder. "Not so fast," a voice instructed gruffly. All four officers faced the owner of the voice, a tall, lanky human with jet black hair, thick stubble, and an Irish accent so thick that Trip wondered if it were fake.

"Is there a problem?" Trip asked, trying to keep his expression light and friendly.

"Follow me." Four large Orion males with intimidating rifles flanked the human.

"Let's not make a scene," Trip raised his hands in a peacemaking gesture.

"Oh, don't you worry about that," the mystery man smiled darkly. "These fine customers would pay extra for a scene."

"Trip," T'Pol said in a low voice.

"Better listen to the lovely lady." His smile twisted and became a snarl. "Always right, these Vulcans."

Trip felt concern flood from T'Pol into him. Or was that from him into her? Regardless, he didn't like the way this guy was eyeing T'Pol, like she was a rat he meant to skewer.

"Alright, take it easy."

Trip and the others followed the human across the ship and up a central set of stairs. The man led them through a set of intricate metal doors into a stark, dimly lit room. In the middle of the room a diminutive Orion man sat behind a desk made of glass and metal.

"Ah, welcome!" He rose, extending a hand to his visitors. "Thank you, Mr. O'Donnell, for showing them up. Why don't you bring in our other guest?" The Orion came out from behind the desk and approached them. "I am Hesan. And you would be," he addressed them each in turn, "Commander Shran, Agent Kovar, Commander Tucker, and Commander T'Pol."

"How did you—" Trip was interrupted by a loud crash as the doors opened and something was thrown inside the office in a heap.

"How dare you!" the something screeched angrily. It turned out to be Sekhar Endil, whose eyes bugged and antennae went limp when he saw the other occupants of the room.

"Endil!" Shran voiced everyone's surprise. "What have you done?"

"Endil came to me yesterday," Hesan supplied when the portly Andorian refused to answer. "He told me that Starfleet and the Vulcan and Andorian governments were investigating the theft of a valuable artifact. He thought this information might be worth something to me, but alas, it would be so only if I had the artifact in question and therefore needed to relocate it with haste."

"The vetch. Is it here?" T'Pol's mind was ever on the mission.

Hesan laughed. "My dear, have you not been listening? That's not how I do business. I can't offer you the artifact, but I can offer _you_ something beyond price: the identity of a murderer."

"How did you know we were looking for a murderer?" Trip asked.

Hesan gave the human a pitying look. "I'm very good at my business."

"Endil is the murderer?" T'Pol was having a hard time trusting the word of the Orion. "What was his motivation?"

"Greed? Anger? Fear? It's your job to sort that out, not mine."

Trip surveyed Hesan skeptically. "Why are you being so helpful? Is that part of your business plan?"

"I try to keep a cordial relationship with all the local authorities," Hesan explained lightly. "It just makes life so much easier for me."

Trip was unconvinced. "This could all be a trick. Endil here could've sold you the artifact and now you're just getting rid of loose ends."

"No," wailed Endil, practically in tears.

"If that were so, wouldn't he say so right now, shift the blame from himself to me? And yet, he does not."

Shran's quivering antennae belied his growing impatience. "Because he'd be crucified by the Andorian public if he admitted to the theft."

"I had nothing to do with it!" the Andorian finally broke down. "It was Sehl—it must have been! The night of the reception, when I contacted the Academy to speak with K'Met, Sehl was there. She said she wanted me to give the gearling vetch to the people of Andoria, to hand it over. That she wouldn't take no for an answer. She was crazy! I mean, crazy the way a Vulcan can be crazy—"

Trip felt T'Pol bristling beneath her calm exterior.

"—obsessed with the idea. She said that if I didn't do it she would tell everyone about the gambling debts, about Hesan, all of it. Then she said that no matter what, it was going back to its people—and she cut the transmission."

"Were you having a sexual relationship with her?" T'Pol asked frankly. Now was not the time for subtlety.

"A what?!" Endil stopped wheezing and stared. "No, of course not! I wouldn't sleep with a Vulcan—certainly not that little verkahr! No, look to Dav there."

"So you say she stole it. Then where is it now?" Kovar brought Endil's attention back to his story.

"I don't know!" Endil shouted. "I don't know what she did with it! She must have sent it off to someone, or she wasn't working alone. Regardless, she was already dead when I got there!

"Where?" Kovar, Trip, and T'Pol asked in unison.

"The Academy!" Endil told them miserably.


	14. 12 It's the Little Things

**Chapter 12: It's the Little Things**

"He wants _immunity_ for giving us Endil?" Archer was incredulous and irritated by the bold request the Orion had made.

"He wanted an assurance that Earth, Vulcan, and Andoria would not interrupt his operations while in orbit around Aldus Prime."

"You've got to be kidding." Archer was not a man who made deals with degenerates like Hesan.

"We agreed," T'Pol told him. Archer was about to start questioning her sanity when he noticed that behind her, Trip was grinning like a maniac.

"But…?"

"We alerted the Aldan Security Force before leaving orbit," T'Pol finished. "While they will probably not be able to shut him down, they will force Hesan to move his operations elsewhere."

"I guess I can live with that," Archer nodded once in approval of her solution. "Still no sign of the vetch?"

Both Commanders shook their heads no.

"Well, at least we might be able to wrap up Sehl's murder. Are we sure Endil is our culprit?"

"It's gotta be Endil," Trip told the captain. "He needed the money, she threatened him, she made the mistake of telling him she was going to take it. It all adds up."

"He is the most likely suspect," T'Pol agreed.

"What about the Orion DNA Phlox found?" That was one angle that hadn't been covered entirely to Archer's satisfaction. "Both Hesan and Endil confirmed that Sehl never met with Hesan, so where did it come from?"

T'Pol had a ready answer. "Endil must have transferred it to Sehl when he killed her. We know that she struggled with her killer before her death, she likely picked up the DNA then."

The captain nodded, but still wasn't completely certain. "And he's sticking to his story, that he found Sehl dead at the Academy?"

"Phlox says it's possible, but there's nothing conclusive to prove where she died. Endil has no proof to offer to back up his story." T'Pol's tone indicated that she didn't find Endil's story plausible. "His version of events is very convenient: Sehl was already dead when he got there, she stole the artifact but it wasn't on her body, he shows up at Hesan's gambling den to "warn" the Orion that Starfleet is coming...the simpler explanation is that he killed Sehl, took the artifact, and came to Hesan to broker a deal to sell it. Hesan is too savvy to accept an artifact tied to a theft and a murder, so instead he turned Endil over to us."

It was all reasonable, Archer supposed. He just couldn't shake the sensation that there was something wrong with all this. "I have a feeling there's more to all this than we know," he sighed, almost to himself.

Neither Trip nor T'Pol could deny his suspicions. Archer felt suddenly tired, and noticed that his officers looked tired too. Well, Trip did. With few exceptions, T'Pol always looked poised and well-rested.

"I guess we'll find out in the morning. In the meantime, get some rest," he ordered them.

"I won't say no," Trip smiled wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. It had been a long day. "I could really use some shuteye."

The engineer shot the Vulcan a look that Archer caught. T'Pol remained expressionless but gave an almost imperceptible nod of her head. It was highly amusing, the way they thought no one else picked up on these little exchanges. Archer tried not to smile at their unspoken conversation.

Although the captain knew about the bond, he wasn't clear on exactly how it manifested in his two officers. He had a feeling it had something to do with sleep or meditation, as they had maneuvered their schedules for the past five months so that they worked the same shifts as often as possible. He also knew the two rarely spent time in one another's quarters, so they were spending time together by some other means. If it helped them be focused and alert, he was all for it. Seeing them squirm as they wondered exactly how much their captain knew was just a bonus. He was going to get some mileage out of this in the future, he could tell.

"Dismissed." He managed to keep a straight face until they left the room.


	15. 13 Wherein Some Things Get Resolved

**Chapter 13: Wherein Some Things Finally Get Resolved**

As always, all things faded away slowly, dwindling into a soft white light that filled her consciousness with calm.

Only it didn't. The white room was there as always, yes, but T'Pol found herself there alone. Where was her human, she wondered. There was a time not so long ago that she would have welcomed his removal from the quiet corner of her meditating mind, but that time had passed. Before, his presence had interrupted her process of regaining emotional control. Now, his absence made it difficult to concentrate.

After waiting for several minutes she brought herself out of her trance. What was the meaning of his absence? Everything that Kovar had told her came back in a flood. Was she too difficult for a human? Was he fed up with her the subdued responses to his affection? For her, they felt like giant leaps into an abyss, but for a human they must have been quite…restrained. Trip was a passionate person, maybe he needed someone who responded with equal fervor.

"I have one," he said. "You."

T'Pol realized that she hadn't completely pulled herself out of her meditation and that Trip could still hear her. Relief flooded through her—he had come, he was waiting for her. It was followed quickly with embarrassment—he'd heard all of her thoughts. With some trepidation, she opened her eyes into the bright light of the white room once more.

"Trip, I—"

"You think I find you…restrained? Subdued?" He was sitting across from her, cross-legged, with his chin supported on his outstretched palm. He studied her, a huge grin on his face. "Hardly words I'd use to describe you!"

She was uncertain how to respond to this and studied the floor.

"T'Pol, I got held up on my way back to my quarters. Hess asked me about her shift rotation, that's why I'm late." He sounded serious now, afraid he had truly offended her.

"I'm not angry that you were late. I thought that…"

"That I find you too difficult and distant and want to break up with you?"

She had nothing to say. He had heard her thoughts, there was no use denying it.

"T'Pol…"

She somehow couldn't bring herself to look at him.

"T'Pol, I'm going to tell you this once and for all, whether you look at me or not. I love you. I do. Yes, you can be difficult and intractable. You made a birthday gift into an interstellar incident. You can be hard to talk to. You can be ambiguous about your feelings." She did look him in the eyes now, her brow furrowed into a frown. Where was he going with this? "But you know what?" he continued, "I love every minute of it. I never enjoyed arguing with someone before I met you. Besides, every debate opens up a discussion. You make me see things in new ways all the time. And let's face it, I'm the only one you let get to you. Who else frustrates you like I do?"

"No one," she admitted with a tiny purse of her lips. "I used to think you had a unique talent for obstinance, but I've come to realize that it's only highlighted because of my affection for you."

"See?" He reached out and put a hand under her chin, his fingers stretched lightly onto her long neck. "It must be love."

She cocked her head to one side, processing what he said. "Do I…" she thought for a moment about how to word this properly. "Do I give you enough…feedback?"

He smiled at this. "If by feedback, you mean—"

He never got the chance to answer. She reached out and spread a hand on his chest, closing a fist onto the uniform there. She saw a momentary look of surprise, his eyes widening, before she drew him to her and kissed him. Her other hand snaked around his neck and into his hairline.

They both felt the electrical jolt again. This time they let it hum and crackle through them as they kissed for what felt like an eternity. Finally, T'Pol pulled back and looked Trip in the eyes. She drew her hand forward from his neck, over his ear, and onto his jaw. She kissed him again lightly—a small buzz this time—before sitting back slightly and examining him fully.

"That kind of feedback," she said, her eyes frank.

"Huh? What was the question?" He looked completely dazed. A goofy grin spread over his features. "What _is_ that?" he asked dreamily.

T'Pol cleared her throat. "The more time we spend together like this, the stronger the bond becomes. In our minds, our psychical forms mimic our physical bodies. What we feel is a buildup and release of our psionic energy."

"I like it." He dipped his head toward her and moved to kiss her again. She placed a hand on his chest, gently holding him back. It wasn't what she wanted to do—she wanted to continue, to hold him tightly and…she gathered her thoughts and took a breath. "We should take this slowly," she suggested. "The effects of the physical interactions of our psychical selves are more pronounced on you than on me. I want to make sure this isn't going to harm you in any way."

He put a hand over the one she still had on his chest. She felt a pang of disappointment and wasn't sure if it was his or hers. "It _is_ pretty mind-blowing," he confirmed. "Just promise that we can work on it. A _lot_."

"I don't think I'll find that a difficult promise to keep." The disappointment turned into delight and anticipation. Her lips curved into a rare smile, then changed into a frown.

"What?" he asked.

"I just realized that I wasted a perfect opportunity for an interrogation," T'Pol said, with a tinge of uncharacteristic playfulness. "I could finally have discovered who told you about my birthday."

Trip shook his head adamantly. "Never gonna happen."

Just you wait, she thought, but let it drop. "I finished the book," she said instead, settling back into her more usual meditation pose.

"How did you find the time?" Trip asked her. He took his place across from her, taking both her hands in his. "I know it's a short book, but we've been so busy the last few days."

"It was a very involving story. The characters were fascinating." Pulling one hand free, T'Pol tilted her head and counted them off on her fingers. "The beautiful vixen—"

"Vixen?!" he clearly loved that she made the effort to get the language correct. The extra time she had taken to look many of these terms up in _Enterprise_'s library database had been well worth it.

"The unsettling assistant, the wealthy patron, the needling henchman, the foreign general. The book is much more about the characters than the bird. They're the real plot—who is trying to pull a double-cross, who knows where artifact actually is. The falcon isn't even…" he voice trailed off.

"Isn't even…" Trip encouraged her.

T'Pol's already fast mind was working like lightening. Something had just occurred to her, something that she and everyone else had overlooked. The gearling vetch, the cast of characters, the convoluted sequence of events on the night of the theft—it was all a smokescreen. Something far simpler and much, much more sinister was going on, and she was just beginning to see it.

"We need to speak with the captain," T'Pol told Trip. "We've been looking at this case all wrong."


	16. 14 Right Back Where We Started

**Chapter 14: Right Back Where We Started**

If this doesn't work, Archer thought, I'll probably be demoted to desk jockey at the Vulcan Embassy on Earth. The captain tried not to groan at that thought. He'd probably be assigned with making Soval's tea until he reached retirement. T'Pol was sure about this and he did trust her judgment, it was just that the last time he was in this room, things hadn't gone so well. At least this time he had brought back-up.

He looked around the room—it was the same room he'd interviewed K'Met in only a few days earlier, but it felt like a lifetime ago. Its beautiful vista of the mountains beyond ShiKahr hadn't changed, but its occupants had. Archer, Trip, T'Pol, Kovar, and Shran were seated on one side of the table, while Endil, Dav, K'Met, Minister Serat, and Kyle Shailey sat on the other. His side of the table was calm and professional, but the other side looked ready for mutiny. It was interesting that no one questioned the presence of Kovar and Shran—had everyone but _Enterprise_ known about the separate investigations?

"Thank you for coming—"

"What is the meaning of this?" Once again, K'Met wasn't going to give him an inch. "You've failed to bring back the gearling vetch and you've seated us with a murderer!" She refused to even look at Endil, who was looking pretty forlorn and miserable at his end of the table. The others had put as much distance as possible between their chairs and his, symbolically cutting ties with him already.

Aside from Endil, the others were in agreement. "He is the scourge of my people," Dav intoned with gravity. "To be reviled! To end a life and to fling, forever into an abyss of obscurity, a piece of art with boundless valu—"

"Yes, thank you." Archer couldn't decide if the Andorian was more or less drunk that the last time Starfleet had encountered him. He would have to compare notes with Malcolm. "We appreciate that this has been difficult for everyone, and we thank you for your patience as we've carried out our inquiries. We have now concluded the investigation and we know where the gearling vetch is and who killed Sehl."

"Endil," K'Met said flatly. "We know he's responsible for the murder and the theft."

"There was no theft," T'Pol informed them.

The captain watched as their expressions changed from disdain to disbelief. This was not the news they were expecting. He watched their faces closely for any signs of guilt, fear, or smug satisfaction. God, he really did hope T'Pol had this right.

"What are you talking about?" Minister Serat wanted to know. "The gearling vetch is gone—the museum has been searched. K'Met's access codes were used to unlock the exhibit, the next morning the artifact and Sehl were gone: there was a theft. We have proof!"

His science officer leaned forward and clasped her hands in front of her. Archer knew this was a sign that she was ready to hunt big game, and he let her take over the show. "What you have are a series of unrelated events that have been reframed as a theft. I assure you, there was no theft. A murder, yes, but the burglary was a red herring."

Everyone except Trip, Archer, and Kovar stared at her, puzzled. "A distraction from the truth," Kovar supplied. K'Met glared icily at him.

"I told you!" Endil squealed. "I didn't have anything to do with it!" No one seemed to hear him.

"What 'truth' were we distracted from?" Dav demanded.

"Let us look at the facts." T'Pol pushed her chair back and rose in one graceful motion. She clasped her hands behind her back and paced slowly around the table. Trip, Archer noticed, was having a very hard time keeping a smile off of his face. The captain caught the engineer's eye and gave him a 'keep it serious' frown. Accordingly, Trip arranged his facial features into a more somber expression.

T'Pol, now fully invested in revealing the truth, was oblivious to this exchange. "First we have Sehl. An idealistic young woman with a passion for cultural objects. She falls under the spell of a charismatic individual who convinces her that art should not be owned, it should be shared with everyone."

"I can't help it if people admire me!" Dav blustered. "Students, they flock to me. That's not a crime!"

T'Pol regarded him passively. "I was referring to Mr. Shailey."

Everyone at the table turned to face the young man, who widened his eyes in surprise. "I don't know what—"

"It is hardly worthwhile denying it, Mr. Shailey. Sehl was obsessed with _Vehara Nat Sul_, but she never contacted Dav about it. Her communications records show that she did contact _you_, and frequently." Hoshi had confirmed this only hours earlier, as the _Enterprise_ was en route to Vulcan. How Hoshi had everyone's communications records was something Archer still wasn't very clear on, but he wasn't prepared to go there.

Kyle glowered. "She went on and on about it, how she was going to prove that she could be successful even where Dav wasn't."

"Because she wanted to make you love her instead of Dav." T'Pol concluded. "She even initiated a sexual relationship with Dav—I presume that was punishment for your last argument?"

"I had told her that she couldn't begin to touch Dav's genius, that she didn't know what I wanted, that she should give up. When I got back from my walk that night—the night she disappeared—I saw that she'd left me a note." Kyle's eyes darkened with rage and jealousy. "It said, 'I can touch his genius in a way you never will. I'll never give up.' I don't know what kind of mental illness Vulcans can suffer from, but she had it in spades."

Shran held up a hand. "Wait a minute. You're saying that the Vulcan loved the human, but the human loved the Andorian?"

"That is correct."

"That is convoluted. What about Dav? Who did he love?"

"I don't know if love is the correct word, but he was having an affair with K'Met," T'Pol explained.

Minister Serat jerked his head around to stare at K'Met, a decidedly unVulcanlike motion.

K'Met, who had been simmering quietly, finally exploded. "How dare you! You have no proof of such a thing! And my private life, whatever it may entail, is certainly not your business!"

Dav chuckled. "Fiery, isn't she? She can be quite passionate, I assure you."

Kyle's eyes filled with disgust. "She doesn't care about you! Not you, the art, or the movement! Can't you see that?!" he shouted angrily at his mentor, rising out of his chair.

"Sure," Dav shrugged. "But so what? We were just passing the time."

If nothing else, Archer mused, T'Pol had just definitively proven that narcissism was a personality trait that crossed species boundaries. Two Vulcans, an Andorian, and a human, all vying for the wrong person's affection—those office meeting must have been fun. Was that a love triangle? Or more of a rhombus?

"K'Met was also 'passing the time' with you, wasn't she, Minister?" T'Pol turned on Serat, who was completely unprepared to be drawn into this debacle. Ah, thought Archer, it's a pentagon.

"What? We were not romantically involved, if that's what you mean." The minister was indignant.

"Not romantically involved, but becoming more and more intimate nonetheless. K'Met was spending a great deal of time with you lately, wasn't she? She said herself that she tried to attend every possible government function she could—"

"To draw attention to the arts," K'Met retorted. "Not everything revolves around sex and romance. You really have been around the humans for too long. You've picked up their bad habits."

Trip held his tongue, for which Archer gave him considerable credit. Neither man wanted to derail T'Pol now, while she had such a fragile hold over the room.

"I suspect there was more to it than that, but let us leave it for now." T'Pol circled around to Endil's chair. "Then there is Sekhar Endil's gambling debt. He owns a valuable artifact that he wouldn't mind selling to fund his habit and pay his creditor." Endil did not try to defend this. "He claims that Sehl found out about his gambling problem and threatened to reveal this to everyone unless he relinquished ownership of the gearling vetch to the people of Andoria."

"She did! It's true!" Endil was desperate for someone, anyone, to believe him.

"We know. Although that communication was deliberately scrubbed from your system, we managed to recover it. Sehl did threaten you." Endil nodded emphatically. "So even though you weren't going to attend the reception that evening, you changed your plans and headed to Vulcan anyway."

Endil nodded again. "She was dead when I got there. Just…lying there. Dead." The Andorian looked mournful, remembering.

"Except that she wasn't. She was alive when you reached the Academy. She had to have been, because there's no other way you could have entered the building without being seen. Your arrival was the first time K'Met's access codes were used that evening: Sehl disabled security and surveillance to let you in."

Endil opened and closed his mouth, looking for all the world like an exotic blue fish out of water. "No, I…" He stood up heavily, backing away from the table. "I didn't! She was alive!"

"Sehl struggled with her attacker before she was killed," Archer held up a hand in a 'sorry to jump in here' motion to his science officer. She tipped her chin, giving him the floor. Archer reached inside a pocket of his uniform and withdrew a communicator. "Archer to Reed."

"Go ahead," Malcolm's brisk voice replied.

"Have our friends from the Imperial Guard arrived?"

"About fifteen minutes ago, sir. We're ready up here whenever you are."

"What's going on," Endil demanded.

"Thanks to Commander Shran, we've received permission from the Imperial Guard to examine you to look for Sehl's DNA or any injuries consistent with her defensive wounds."

Shran smiled mirthlessly at Endil. "I was more than happy to oblige. Your family carries a lot of prestige, but a pending murder charge outweighs status considerations."

Endil turned and ran frantically for the door, only to find two MACOs waiting on the other side of it. The Andorian stopped in his tracks, breathing hard and starting to wheeze in panic.

"Sir?" One of the MACOs asked uncertainly. Archer could see his concern. Endil seemed like he might pass out at any moment.

"Sit him down," Archer commanded.

"I didn't mean to," Endil wailed between wheezes. "I just wanted her to leave me alone! She wouldn't stop! I couldn't make her see reason! I only brought the pistol to scare her."

"The Antillian plasma pistol," Trip remembered. "Tricky firing mechanism."

"Yes! It just went off!"

"So you killed her." Dav might have been a lothario, but he at least had the decency to show sympathy for the last woman he'd slept with.

"This doesn't explain why the gearling vetch is missing," Minister Serat noted. "Unless Endil is lying about that too?"

"No." T'Pol waited until all eyes were on her before continuing. "As I said earlier, there was no theft. The gearling vetch never left the museum. Up to now we have a story of obsession, idealism, and unrequited love. Someone took advantage of that. They removed the gearling vetch from its exhibit stand, dressed as Sehl, made their way to the transport station with Sehl's body in a bag, and arranged to have her left her on an outpost near Aldus Prime. The trail of the so-called theft was meant to end there, wasn't it, K'Met?"


	17. 15 Oh Yes She Did

**Chapter 15: Oh Yes She Did**

The entire room went completely silent. Even Endil stopped wheezing as he gawped at the regal Vulcan.

K'Met stood up very slowly, like a cat putting itself in position to pounce. "I hope you have proof of such an accusation," she said darkly.

"As do I." Minister Serat also stood. "K'Met has done great things for the arts on Vulcan, she's brought an awareness of cultural artifacts to so many—"

"Not because she values Vulcan cultural heritage, I assure you." T'Pol stopped pacing, placing herself firmly between K'Met and the door. From the corner of his eye, Archer saw Trip push his chair back, ready to take action if necessary. "Whoever she works for doesn't care about the history of the Vulcan people. She's been using her position here to collect and sell information for years, slowly insinuating herself into a crowd of—how did you put it, Mr. Shailey?" T'Pol tried to remember Hoshi's recounting of her interview with the young human. "The 'power elite.' She was also gradually spreading her net to include officials from other planets—the Andorians, the Tellarites, the humans. The inter-species exhibit, Minister—it was K'Met's idea, wasn't it?"

Minister Serat slowly sank back into his chair. "And the reception at the embassy that night. And the tours—she insisted that any visiting government official should be given a private tour of the exhibit."

T'Pol regarded K'Met with cool, logical confidence. "When you found Sehl dead you recognized the opportunity it provided. You could simply hide the vetch, letting everyone think your assistant had taken it. You would destabilize relations between the Andorians and the Vulcans and make yourself a lot of money in the process." As T'Pol spoke, the MACOs flanked her, closing in on K'Met. "Someone in your position could find a buyer for even the most notorious of artifacts."

"And still, you have no proof of this," K'Met's voice was eerily quiet and steady.

"We searched your quarters," Kovar interjected.

K'Met gave him a smug look. "Aside from the violation of privacy, that does not concern me."

"Including your meditation garden. We found the gearling vetch buried there, along with several encrypted PADDs. They were not difficult to locate. You may be a spy," he told her, "but you are no engineer."

K'Met's expression froze. She turned slowly, so very slowly, to look at everyone in the room. She looked down her nose at each of them in turn. When she got to him, Archer felt a chill down his spine. "You'll never understand." Her voice was perfectly, almost unnaturally, modulated. "You could never understand why I did what I did. You have no idea what loyalty or honor are, and you have no idea what is coming. I'm neither the beginning nor the end." With this, she turned swiftly and, running with surprising speed, threw herself into of one of the nearby windows.

Archer liked to think he had quick reflexes, but he could barely process what had happened before he was showered with glass. For a moment everyone was silent, hands covering their faces, then pandemonium broke loose.

Trip had been struck by a large shard across his forehead, and T'Pol wasted no time getting to his side. She was currently slapping his hand away from the wound as she staunched the bleeding in her typical no-nonsense fashion. Endil had thrown himself to the ground and started wailing. He pushed himself under the table and refused to budge, even with one of the MACOs waving his weapon threateningly. The other MACO was reporting back to _Enterprise_ on his comm. Archer could hear him requesting backup and medical assistance. Minister Serat was similarly speaking into a comm device, though his heated conversation was in Vulcan. Dav and Kyle Shailey sat motionless, almost catatonic, in their seats.

Shran, Kovar, and Archer ran to the window, looking over the edge. Several stories below them lay K'Met, motionless and surrounded by a horrific halo of green. Vulcans being Vulcans, no one appeared to be panicking, but several people were checking to see if she required medical assistance. Archer could see very clearly that she did not.

"I'll go down." Kovar was brushing glass shards out of his short hair. "I'll confirm her death, make sure the scene isn't disturbed or the body moved."

"I'll go with you," Shran offered. The Andorian had been seated nearer the window than most of them and had numerous small cuts across his face.

"We will also get medical assistance for you," the Vulcan informed the Andorian. Kovar led the way out of the room.

"That won't be necessary—this is nothing! I was shot once with a Denebian welding gun…" Shran's reply trailed off as they walked away.

Minister Serat came up next to Archer, and regarded the scene below. The downturned corners of his mouth spoke of his regret at this turn of events. "I've spoken to the High Council. I've called an emergency meeting. They have to know about this, obviously. I'd like you and Commander T'Pol to attend, to explain what happened here, and why."

"Of course," Archer agreed. "Although I'm not sure what the full story is yet. I don't think we'll know that until we can get those PADDs decrypted and figure out who K'Met was working for."

The Vulcan turned to Archer suddenly, remembering something. "That night, at the reception—I couldn't find her for a while. When I finally did she was outside. She said she'd been enjoying the embassy gardens. Is it possible she left then to…but how could she know exactly when to leave and come back? It wasn't very long. I didn't even think about it before."

"Successful spies are usually paranoid. She probably was monitoring everyone at the Academy. My guess is that when Sehl used her security code, K'Met was somehow notified. It would only take a few minutes to set her plan in action. She could hide the body, hide the vetch, clean out Sehl's desk, then come back to enjoy the party. Later she went to the transport station with Sehl's body. She probably had an accomplice that took over from there, dumping the body at the outpost."

"An accomplice?" The Serat was alarmed at this idea. "There are more people involved in this?"

"Minister, I think we're going to find that this goes a lot deeper than any of us are going to like."

* * *

Hoshi liked to work a puzzle, but she wasn't sure she liked the solution she had found for this one. She had finally cracked the encryption for one of the PADDs found in K'Met's garden stash, and she did not like what she was seeing.

"Everything all right, Ensign?" Across the bridge, Malcolm was watching her from the tactical station. Other than Crewman Bates at the helm, they were alone on the bridge. Trip was doing whatever it was he did in engineering, and Captain Archer and T'Pol were still on Vulcan, stuck in endless meetings with both Vulcan and Andorian government officials. They were in turns praised for their recovery of the gearling vetch and interrogated on their discovery of a spy in the Vulcan Academy.

"Hoshi?" Malcolm asked when she didn't respond.

"I don't know. Take a look at this," she got up and crossed the bridge, PADD in hand. She handed it to Malcolm, who read it over carefully.

His eyes widened. "Are you sure about this?"

Hoshi shrugged. "As sure as I can be. I ran the telemetry again and again. I think it's correct."

"K'Met was sending this information," he dropped his voice, looking pointedly at Bates, "into Romulan space?"

"As far as I can tell," Hoshi confirmed. She hated being the first one to know this, to know something this potentially awful. Romulan spies on Vulcan? Her stomach sank.

"We'd better tell the captain." Just as he raised his hands to his console, his comm chirped to life.

"Phlox to Lt. Reed."

"Go ahead, Doctor." Now what?

"I need to contact Captain Archer, but I've been told by the Office of the High Council that he is in a meeting. I'm afraid this can't wait. Can you get ahold of him?"

"I was just about to do so myself, Doctor. If you don't mind my asking, what's the trouble?"

Phlox hesitated. "It's K'Met. I just completed my autopsy. I found indications that she's been…surgically altered."

Hoshi's heart began to beat faster. "Altered from what?" she asked, unable to keep out of the conversation.

"I can't reconstruct her original appearance, I can only tell you that her appearance has been cosmetically changed. Someone also tried to reconstruct segments of her DNA, probably so that any cursory medical examination would have identified her as a Vulcan. I don't know what she was, but she was _not_ a Vulcan."

Hoshi stared at Malcolm, who stared back up at her. Crewman Bates stared at them both from the helm.

"Lt. Reed?"

"Yes, right." Malcolm shook himself into action. "Contacting the captain now, Doctor."

Hoshi crossed the bridge back to her station. The universe—and the future—suddenly seemed a little more frightening.


	18. 16 All's Well That Ends With Pie

**Chapter 16: All's Well That Ends With Pie**

Unsurprisingly, the Romulan spy and the gearling vetch were both hot topics of conversation on _Enterprise_ for the next two weeks. The captain and T'Pol were in high demand first on Vulcan, then Andoria, and, finally, Earth. T'Pol was asked to recount the tale, now amended with information provided by Phlox and Hoshi, to countless officials. Although she was always ready to be of service to both Vulcan and Starfleet, she was glad when the last event, a reception at the Vulcan Embassy on Earth, was finally over.

No one knew what the full implications of K'Met's presence on Vulcan really meant, or exactly what kind of information she'd sent to the Romulans. They weren't even sure if she was Romulan, though T'Pol suspected this was the case. Despite all his best efforts, which were considerable, Phlox had been unable to reconstruct her original appearance or isolate her DNA. She was a biological enigma who had left a trail of unanswered questions in her wake.

One bright note was that K'Met's plans to drive a wedge, however seemingly insignificant, between Vulcan and Andoria with the theft of the gearling vetch had categorically failed. The exhibit remained on display, although an entirely new set of (thoroughly vetted) curators were brought in to run it. The gearling vetch had returned to Andoria, where it looked like Sehl might get her final wish. The Andorian Empire had temporarily claimed the artifact, placing it in protective custody until Sekhar Endil's trial was completed. Its fate was as-yet unknown, but there was a groundswell of support for handing it over to the Andorian Academy for the Arts. Jhemel Dav would doubtless have been happier about this had his position not been immediately terminated upon his return to Andoria. Kyle Shailey was probably reading about it back on Earth as he looked for a new internship.

All of this was far from T'Pol's mind at the moment, now _Enterprise_ was finally on its way back to its interrupted mission, and she was enjoying a cup of tea with Trip, Malcolm, and Hoshi after Movie Night. The last weeks had made her realize how much she enjoyed—yes, enjoyed—these moments with her crewmates.

"Peter Lorre is so creepy," Hoshi scrunched her shoulders and shivered.

"That's perfect casting, right there." Malcolm handed her a piece of apple pie, then handed pieces of peach pie to T'Pol and Trip before digging into his own slice of pineapple upside down cake.

"I will admit, the movie was very well cast," T'Pol agreed as she picked up her fork. "And you were right Trip, it's very close to the book."

"Told you," he grinned, taking a large bite of pie. "It's one of the best movies of all time!"

"You say that about _every_ movie you show at Movie Night," Malcolm pointed out.

Trip, still chewing, waved his fork defensively and shook his head.

"I'm afraid it's true, Commander," T'Pol said very seriously. "You do try to convince us that every movie you choose is the best movie Earth ever made."

Trip swallowed. "I can't help that I have superior taste. You're all just lucky that I share it with you! If _you_ want to choose the movies for Movie Night—"

"Yes!" Malcolm and Hoshi answered in unison.

"Too bad!" Trip pounded a fist on the table in mock anger.

Hoshi was laughing so hard by this time that tears formed in her eyes.

Yes, T'Pol thought. This was home. This strange species—they were a part of her now. She would always be Vulcan, but now she felt that part of her was becoming just a little bit…human.

* * *

Sometime later, Trip and T'Pol sat alone in the mess, still sipping their drinks. Trip was trying to decide what the next movie would be and she listened patiently, unable to offer input on any that he had so far named.

"Commander."

Trip raised his eyebrows at this sudden formality. "Yes, Commander?"

"At the reception at the Vulcan Embassy, I had the chance to talk with Ambassador Soval."

The Engineer's eyes grew large, but he said nothing.

"He said that your communication with him last month was unexpected, but wants to make sure you got all the information you needed to rebuild _Enterprise_'s personnel files after they were accidentally deleted."

"Uhhhh…" Trip couldn't seem to form words properly. He scratched the back of his head, a gesture she had come to realize was his 'tell' when he felt guilty about something.

"He hopes that all of my medical and biographical data has now been successfully reentered into our database."

Trip held out both hands, signaling 'you got me.' "Okay, okay. I told a little white lie to find out your birthday." He leaned back and crossed his arms in front of him. "You know, a lot of women would find my antics lovable or romantic."

"They are not Vulcan women," T'Pol observed.

"Right. So what do _you_ say about it?"

"I say..." she paused for effect, "just wait until _your_ birthday."

He grinned. "Do I have to?"

Inside his mind a warm, glowing, buzzing hum built up until it nearly overwhelmed him with her answer.


	19. Author's Note

Just an addendum to give a big thank you to everyone who read and reviewed, especially Cap'nFrances. You made writing it fun! Thank you for all your feedback, I'm so glad you enjoyed the story.

For the next story, I think will explore a different genre…secret agent/spy novels. So stayed tuned for…

_From Risa With Love_

*cue James Bond intro music*


End file.
